


The Horror And The Wild

by EsriteIatha



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Because you know you want it!, Blood and Gore, Bringer of Apocalypse AU, Ciri has a teenage crush on Jaskier, Dark!Jaskier, Gen, Hellhounds, Horror, Jaskier suffers for the fandom, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Singer (bard) and handsome, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, actually everyone does, angel of death - Freeform, because let's be real
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:20:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 28,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22420198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EsriteIatha/pseuds/EsriteIatha
Summary: Uncoordinated blackness swirls in the air and her Chaos is powerless against it. There are bodies all around her, faces she doesn't recognize. The blackness explodes and the world disappears.She screams herself awake. She cuts the disturbing sound off as soon as she can and slams her jaws shut. She pants and getting air into her lungs is so difficult. She pushes the furs off her body and she scrambles to her feet. She has no time to waste. If her dream, no, vision is true, then she is facing an even bigger enemy then the Nilfgaardians.She stamps down on her feelings as she thinks about her next task. She has to find Geralt of Rivia.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Pegasus/Roach
Comments: 80
Kudos: 207





	1.  You were raised by wolves and voices

**Author's Note:**

> I listened to The Amazing Devil and watched the Witcher. So, here I go again! Prepare for horror! This is me who has been unleashed on this fandom after all! Comments are always welcome! 
> 
> *The title and the Chapter titles too belong to The Amazing Devil!!!!!* Check them out they are amazing! 
> 
> And I know that Pegasus is supposed to be white and to be a gelding, but for this story, I need him to be black and you know... have his balls.

The fog has settled over the hillside. The white has mingled with the blackness of the still-burning fire's smoke. The result is a shifting mix of gray. The grass is wet with dew and blood. He steps over bodies, armors, swords, and arrows as he makes his way through the field. He hums softly an ancient lullaby, even without words, he feels the disturbed spirits settle around him. There is a figure in the middle of the battlefield, dressed in black, blond hair pooling to the ground, black eyes comforting the dead. The spirits swarm around the feminine form, seeking the provided comfort. She will lead them to a place that some call Heaven, others Valhalla. He knows that there is only the deep slumber of the Emptiness. 

"My Lady!" he calls when he is close enough to speak without raising his voice. 

She turns her head slowly. Completely black eyes zeroing on his face. Black veins are pulsing in and out f view as she smiles. 

"Your Highness!" she bows a little. "What a pleasure to see you again." 

"Walk with me!" he requests and she obeys like always. 

The spirits dance out of their way, trailing after them. Their transition to the Other Side is very recent. He is right now, belongs to the living, while she is belonging to the Other Side. Together they are comfort, balance. 

"What brought you here, Sunshine Child?" he smiles fondly at the endorsement at the end of her question. A nickname that was given to him by her oh so long ago. 

"Still funny that you call me that," he replies. "Considering my role in this world." 

She chuckles softly, the voice unearthly beautiful. That sound was the song of his childhood. He pulls it close to his chest and keeps it there, for the darker days he knows will come. 

"You go out of your way to bring joy, laughter to the faces of humans you meet on your journey. These are dark times, My Lord. But you still give them sunshine." she purres. A boney finger is lifted and touches the corner of his mouth. He raises his hand and wraps it around the thin wrist. He leans his face against the hand that raised him. 

"I am supposed to bring Death and Emptiness upon them." 

"You will lead the Army Of Hell if you decide to." she corrects him, again and again. "Will you?" 

He looks around the battlefield, the dead men and women. Elves and humans. Other species. The spirits around them. There are children. Too young to hold a sword or aim an arrow. 

"What choice do I have?" he asks back. "There is no pain in the Empty, just deep slumber till eternity." 

"Yet you are still heartbroken over your sister." She cocks her head to the side. "Her slumber is deep in your Mother's arms, but you are still pained." 

"Renfri," he whispers her name. She bows a little too in respect. 

"Just for her death, I should allow Mother to rise and do what she has been promised to do. The Curse of the Black Sun should come to pass," he speaks with deep-rooted pain and anger. Her fingers flicker on his face soothingly. His fury obeys reason. He calms. 

"The World still stands," she says. 

"I still have to decide. I promised that I would give it a chance. For the good souls. My decision will be made before the end of this cursed war." He glances down at his hands. There has been a time when his powers were free to roam, but now, there is nothing under this human skin he has been gifted with. Whatever his decision will be, he'll have to fight. For or against his heritage, it all depends on him. But first, he has to go through the ritual to be what he is supposed to be.

"I have a job for you," he says after a few minutes of silence. "Have you heard of Geralt of Rivia?" 

"How could I not, My Lord?" she asks. There is enthusiasm in her ethereal voice. "Whatever you wish, will be done!" 

***

  
Uncoordinated blackness swirls in the air and her Chaos is powerless against it. There are bodies all around her, faces she doesn't recognize. The blackness explodes and the world disappears.

She screams herself awake. She cuts the disturbing sound off as soon as she can and slams her jaws shut. She pants and getting air into her lungs is so difficult. She pushes the furs off her body and she scrambles to her feet. She has no time to waste. If her dream, no, vision is true, then she is facing an even bigger enemy then the Nilfgaardians.

She stamps down on her feelings as she thinks about her next task. She has to find Geralt of Rivia.

***

  
He can't keep running with a child. That is the thought behind Geralt's last plan. This cabin has been empty ever since a freak accident with a Kikimora. The Witcher thanked whoever is looking out for them that the little wooden building is still standing and still has no owner to claim it. They work together with Ciri and clean it up as best as they can. It has two tiny bedrooms and the furniture is still useable. Ciri welcomes the change in their lifestyle. She doesn't voice her opinion, but it's obvious. He knows that this is temporary as he lays down the traps around the cabin in the woods. Against humans and monsters alike. Still, it feels like settling down. Something he has secretly sought his whole life. He hunts for them, while Ciri gathers fruits. Life is good for a little while. 

Then she arrives. 

One evening, during the fall, the air swirls and the leaves fly and fly. Then she is there. 

"Yennefer!" he breaths her name. 

"Geralt," she acknowledges equally silently. Then Ciri steps out from behind him and approaches the Mage wonder clear in her very blue eyes. Yennefer bows a little as she introduces herself to the Lion Cub. However, as soon as they are over the pleasantries, she turns a serious, purple gaze on him. 

"We need to talk!" Her tone doesn't leave room for argument, so he doesn't argue and let her inside their little sanctuary. Ciri makes tea for them. She has gotten good at these kinds of things. 

"Are you familiar with the Curse of the Black Sun?" she asks Geralt. 

The Witcher almost spits out his tea. The face of Renfri swims into focus, then disappears, just like her oh so short life and potential. He narrows his eyes at the Mage on the other side of the table. Ciri straightens her posture on her chair as she tries to make sense of the conversation. 

"I know of it. Why?" he snaps. 

"How much do you know?" Yennefer prompts. Her gaze is intense, ordering him to take it seriously, pay attention. 

"Full eclipse, Lilit, sixty royalties, rivers filling with blood. If you want to know more, go and ask your precious Stregobor!" he snaps. Yennefer glares, but her tone is controlled when she replies. 

"Did Stregobor mention the Boy?" 

Geralt blinks. As far as he knew, the story is about Lilit and sixty females. There is no boy. 

"Hmm..."

Yennefer leans forward. "Lilit cannot enter this World without her Son. Her lovechild with the Devil himself." 

"There is no devi-"

"Get over yourself, Witcher!" Yennefer slams her palm down on the table. Ciri jumps a little in her seat, but stay wisely quiet. 

"Somewhere between all this fucking mess that is our life now, the Bringer of the Apocalypse has been born. The animals of the night, all the fucking monster that you hunt, dark magic like no other will answer him. He will end this world and all life with it! He will open the gates for Lilit. He has to be stopped!" Yennefer leans back, shoulders slumping a little. Her purple gaze is haunted, Geralt finally notices. He understands and shocked to see, that the Mage is scared. 

"I can't just go around, chasing child demons." he huffs. He looks at Ciri meaningfully. "I have responsibilities now." 

Yennefer follows his gaze, but it's a scowl that twist's the young Princess's features. She doesn't like being a burden and she voices this opinion. Not that Geralt thought of her like that. 

"In Aretuza Tissaia can keep her safe," the Mage offers. "You could learn to control your abilities, Princess!" 

It takes some time, but together they manage to convince the child and somewhat Geralt too, that this is the best option for them all. As they send the girl to pack, Yennefer puts a hand onto the Witcher's arm. 

"If the Boy fulfills his Destiny, then there won't be a future for her."

"I don't kill innocents." he lays down the rules. Again, Renfri is there, in his mind, her intelligent eyes watching his every move. "I'm not hurting him if he is still innocent." 

"He is the bringer of Death and Destructions. He is not innocent."

"As long as no blood stains his hands, he is innocent to me!" 

"And what will you do? Adopt him too?" she asks back with a raised eyebrow. His only answer to that is a growl. He leaves the cabin to tend to Roach. She has a long journey ahead of her too. 

Yennefer calls after him, warning that they have to go when the first rays of sunshine touch the ground.

***

They should have left last night. 

It's dawn when it happens. Yennefer is in the kitchen preparing something for Ciri, while the Princess is getting ready. Geralt is outside, fiddling with Roach's saddle. Then his traps come to life, the alarms he had placed sing of approaching danger. He closes his eyes and allows his enhanced hearing to zero on the approaching enemy. His eyes snap open and he curses. Nilfgaardians. A whole army of them. 

How did they find them? 

He turns towards the house as Yennefer steps out. There is a frown on her pretty face, she senses the danger too. 

"Get the child, now!" he snaps. Yennefer doesn't go back inside, instead, she throws up her arms, stopping the flying arrows in thin air that have been aimed at his head. He curses again and pulls one of his sword free. His traps weren't designed for a whole army. 

"We have to go!" he shouts as more arrows hit Yennefer's shield. The yells of the soldiers are getting closer and closer. The thunder of their feet feels like an earthquake. They are trying to circle around them, Geralt understands finally. It means that escaping with a child will be close to impossible. 

Ciri appears next to Yennefer, her bag on her back, her blue eyes wide and shiny with unshed tears. Geralt doesn't hesitate. He grabs her, places her onto Roach's saddle. She is trembling, he could feel it. A Nilfgaardian soldier crashes through the brushes around the cabin and immediately falls, thanks to Yennefer's magic. Just like the next one and the next. 

"Go, we will be right behind you!" he promises. A tear escapes, her lips tremble. 

"But..." 

"Go!" Roach understands and jumps into a gallop with a battle neigh. Ciri almost loses her balance, but thanks to the gods, she remains on the horse. Geralt watches their retreating forms wistfully. He hopes that he didn't lie to her. He spins around and stabs his sword into the chest of a Nilfgaardian soldier, who tried to sneak up on him. On his right, Yennefer's gaze is ablaze with magic as she kills soldier after soldier. 

"You should have gone with her!" she grits out. 

Geralt dances with the Nilfgaardians, leaving his dance partners dead on the leaves covered ground. 

"I'm not leaving you behind!" he huffs. 

The soldiers are coming and coming and there are only two of them. Yennefer is already panting, her steps are faltering thanks to her exhaustion. Geralt doesn't look better. Cuts are covering almost his whole body and he almost falls to the ground and his death when an arrow buries into his side. He has to come to the realization that he has lied to the Princess. They won't be following her. 

"What now?" Yennefer asks. She is too tired, he knows. Otherwise, she would have conjured up a portal by now. 

"Now, you stand down, Dear," a gentle voice speaks. To Grealt's astonishment, a blond woman, dressed in black walks up to them. He doesn't know where she came from. Her face is ageless, but her eyes, they are terrifying pools of unearthly black. She comes between the soldiers and them and opens her arms wide. Just like that, the fight stops. The Nilfgaardian soldiers drop to the ground. Eyes wide and lifeless, mouth slack. 

The sudden silence is deafening. 

Yennefer and Geralt move towards each other instinctively. The woman bows her head at the dead soldiers, then claps her hands in front of herself, turning towards them slowly. 

"Who are you?" Geralt demands. 

"Some call me Angel of Death, others Reaper. I was named Death herself. When the spirits want to name me, they call me Shereje." the woman replies. 

"Why are you here?" It is Yennefer's turn to ask the question.

The woman inclines her head towards her and smiles. With her black eyes, she looks definitely demonic. 

"I'm here on the behalf of my Prince," she replies with an almost purr coloring her voice. 

"Who is your Prince? Why did he send you?" 

"You may know him by the name, Bringer of the Apocalypse, the Prince of Darkness, the King of Hell." she cocks her head to the side at Yennefer's sharp intake of breath. "He sent me to save you, keep you alive." 

Geralt sends a glare towards the Mage next to him, but Yennefer ignores his gaze. "We have to find Ciri," she says instead. "There could be more Nilfgaardians around." 

"There are," Shereje purrs. "The Lion Cub has run into an old friend. He will keep her safe and hidden."

***

  
Roach races through the woods, expertly dodging low branches and fallen logs. At least she seems to know where they are headed because Ciri doesn't. She is blinded by her freely falling tears and her mind is filled with desperation, hopelessness, and exhaustion. She has been happy for a few short weeks. Geralt has settled down with her. There was a resemblance to normal life and order. Now it's gone again because of her. 

She has a feeling that Geralt has lied to her. 

An arrow cuts through the air and burrows into the ground in front of Roach. The mare recoils with an alarmed neigh and Ciri loses her hold on the saddle because of the sudden change of direction. An unintentional scream leaves her lips as she falls onto the ground. The power that is entangled with her voice takes away the horse's ability to assess the situation and sends her into a terrified dash, away from the fallen Princess. 

"Roach..." Ciri stammers as she rolls on the ground slowly. Her right arm and back hurt, but she can move her limbs. Her fall could have ended with her in a lot worse condition. But she has no time to be glad for this miracle because two Nilfgaardian soldiers are already standing above her and she has no chance without Garelt's horse. She opens her mouth to scream, to by herself time, but one of her attackers shot forward forces her mouth shut and she is gagged before a sound can leave her lips. She trembles as her hands are forced behind her back and a rope is bound around her slim wrists. She tugs on it, but it's too tight and just bites into her tender flesh deeper and deeper. The soldiers look way too satisfied with their work. 

One of them squats down in front of her, pulling her hair back roughly. "This bitch has caused us so much trouble. I've lost good friends because of her. The least she can do is giving us a little pleasure, don't you, Princess?" he sneers. 

"Rhert!" the other one hisses as he rises to his feet and starts to fumble with his pants. "Cahir will have your head for this!"

"Cahir doesn't have to know about it, does he?" 

"Erm... Gentlemen?" They both turn towards the source of the hesitant greeting. There is a man, who apparently managed to sneak up on them. He is tall and lean, he holds a lute almost protectively in front of himself, his brown hair curls messily around his face, his cornflower colored eyes flicker between the soldiers and the Princess. 

"Get lost, Bard!" 

The Bard looks between the three of them again and sighs with what it seems is defeat. Ciri whimpers, her eyes begging him to stay, to help, even if by a look of it, he doesn't really have a chance against two soldiers. 

The Bard steps closer. 

"I am a storyteller," he speaks. "For my ballads to be true, I need to understand the happenings around me. Can you clear up this situation for me? Before I misunderstand something. It'd be horrible for my carrier." His eyes are big and round, his face open. He steps closer and closer. Rhert pulls his swords free from its scabbard. The Bard stops, but he is already too close. 

"I said, get lost!" the soldier spats. Saliva droplets are flying out of his mouth and the Bard grimaces. Then his features just shift and he just looks tired. 

"I wish I could," he says softly and drops his lute. He and Rhert move at the same time. The Bard dodges the sword that is swung towards him and stabs a thin, but long blade into the armpit of his attacker. Rhert gasps and staggers to the ground. The Bard is already turned towards the other soldier who is charging towards him with a curse and an almost drawn sword. The Bard throws himself onto the ground, rolls, and stabs the man in his tight. The soldier stumbles and tries to swing the heavy sword again, but the Bard's blade is lighter and more mobile. It sinks deep into the soldier's throat. 

Rhert is still alive, just barely, his death rattles the only sound around them. The Bard ignores him and walks to the stunned and terrified Princess. He crouches down in front of her and holds up his hand in a placating gesture. 

"Hello, My Lady!" he greets gently. "I would like to help, with your permission, of course." 

Ciri likes his voice, his speech sounds like a melody too. She nods her permission and he carefully cuts her bonds and frees her lips. He helps her to her feet. 

"Come on, we have to go," he urges softly as he leads her away from the fallen soldiers. Rhert is dead now too, the death rattles ceased. They hear the sound of hoofbeats approaching and the Bard stiffens next to her. His fingers tighten around the still bloody blade in his hand. Ciri clears her throat in preparation. This time she is ready to help him too. After all, she owes him a lot. 

However, the horses don't have riders as they come into view. One of them is completely black, while the other one is brown. They are beautiful together. 

"Oh, come on Pegasus! Don't tell me that you manag--" the Bard cuts himself off, his blue eyes widen as he takes in the other horse. "R-Roach?" he breaths and he approaches the mare in almost in a daze. Roach snaps her head up, her dark eyes zero on the Bard. Her neigh is full of joy and greeting as she trots up to him. First, the Bard raises his hand and carefully puts it on the horse's nose, then the next moment, animal and human are hugging. Ciri is baffled. She hasn't seen Roach act like this with anyone before. 

"You know Roach?" she asks softly. The Bard turns his head a little, his smile is gentle. 

"She is an old friend." 

Something stirs in Ciri, a knowledge somewhere deep in her mind, but the solution doesn't come forward. 

"Cirilla," the Bard speaks and she blinks in surprise. How does he know? "Where is Geralt of Rivia?" 

The question is an awful reminder of the people she has left behind and her tears steal her voice again. The Bard presses his lips together at the sight of her.

"Come on, we'll talk about it later, when we are safe," he is lean, but he lifts her into Roach's saddle with almost the same ease as Geralt. When she is safe up there, the Bard picks up his lute and gently brushes the dirt of it. He is murmuring soft apologizes to the instrument, then he pulls the strap over his shoulder, securing it to his back. He pulls himself up onto the black horse and stirs him away from the gruesome scene. 

"Roach, follow me!"

And the mare does, careful now with her precious cargo. 

To Be Continued


	2. Every night I hear them howling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "But he is killing them!" Ciri exclaims. 
> 
> "Most of the time, bad things happen because of good intentions. Human souls are not designed for loneliness."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my Bard! I can't believe the interest you have shown in this story. I am so happy (and nervous). Please continue to tell me what you like, what you don't. I have the outline of the story in my head, but there are black holes too. I hope that together we can fill them up!
> 
> The first few chapters will be slow, but the pace will pick up later. 
> 
> Thank you again for your support!
> 
> Esrite

She runs as fast as her legs allow her to. There is blood on her hands and face, her clothes are torn. There is a horrible, dirty feeling spreading through her. Her broach is gone. She trips and falls, then gets up. She is so focused on running, escaping, that she doesn't notice the figure ahead. Bony fingers catch her gently. She lashes out, expecting another attack on her life. 

"Calm now, Princess Renfri!" the voice is gentle, soothing. It's a woman's voice. Renfri blinks and stills her hands and feet. 

The figure standing over her is a woman. Her ageless face is framed by long, blond hair, her form is covered by a black dress. However, it's the eyes, the inhuman blackness that captures the young Princess's attention. 

"Who are you?" she demands, when the thin fingers let go of her. 

"The spirits call me Shereje," the woman speaks. "I am also called the Angel of Death."

Renfri takes a sharp breath and stumbles away from the woman. A new kind of fear takes hold of her. After all, ... was it all for nothing? 

"Don't fear me, Princess." the woman smiles. "All of Lilit's children are safe with me. Come, look!"

She beckons her. Lilit. The name that has been a constant companion of her ever since the day she has been born. People said that she is Lilit's girl. She has thought that it's a curse. After today,... could it be a blessing? She approaches the woman slowly, almost mesmerized. Shereje smiles sweetly and pulls her robs open. 

"Look, I brought your brother to you. Look! He was born today!" 

The woman is holding a baby in her other arm. The boy is wrapped in a dirty, black cloth. There is dried blood on his chubby face. Renfri thinks he is beautiful. 

"Hold him!" Shereje hands the baby over to her and Renfri doesn't hesitate. The child fits into her arms. His weight feels right. She pulls him closer to her chest. There is a need to protect. Suddenly everything shifts into place. 

"Who is he?"

"The Bringer of the Apocalypse!" 

  
***

Geralt is trying his very best to track Roach's path through the woods. It shouldn't be that hard, but the Nilfgaardians were using horses too and they messed up the prints. The constant threat of another attack, the worry for Ciri, Yennefer's exhausted huffs and Shereje's looming presence really don't help. The Angel of Death refused to help them out ever since the battle at the cabin. She follows them around, hums when they are forced to kill more soldiers, but that is. 

"At least tell us who the old friend is!" Yennefer continues her interrogation of the dark woman. However, Shereje ignores her. Again.

"Damn it!" Yennefer snaps. She's never been patient and now she is tired and worried. "The Sun is setting! We have to find Ciri! For fuck's sake, help us out!" 

"Yennefer -" Geralt starts, because he doesn't think it's a good idea to piss off the woman who can kill them both with a wave of her hand. Shereje raises her arm and both him and Yennefer freeze. However, it's not an attack on them, she is just pointing at something. They follow her silent instruction to find that there is a small clearing not far from them. It's not a natural clearing, it has been created. The trees and the branches are broken, the brushes are pushed sideways. It's like a crater. 

Two dead soldiers are laying on the ground. 

"Ciri!" Yennefer breaths as she moves around the place. Her fingers touch branches and leaves gently. Chaos swirls around her, ready to lash out at someone, anyone. 

Geralt examines the ground and finds a piece of rope. He can smell Ciri's blood on it. He can barely see because of the red haze that tries to take over his mind. The child - his child! - has been there, these men tried to take her. He wishes that they were alive just to kill them himself. Brutally. 

He notices the other prints too. There has been someone else here. The one who supposedly saved Ciri. It's a man, light on his feet. The wounds of the soldiers indicate that he is tall but lithe. He uses a stiletto, quite well, actually. He has no idea who this old friend is supposed to be though. He smells the ground, but he can only smell the two soldiers' and Ciri's blood. The fourth human was unharmed during the fight. He didn't leave anything behind that could preserve his scent. 

He finds two sets of hoof prints leaving the scene. He would recognize Roach's from anywhere. It looks like she has gone with the other rider willingly. 

Who could it be? 

"The Sun is gone," Shereje sounds cheerful. "The Cub is safe. We should rest. The creatures of the night will take care of the soldiers." she promises. Geralt glares at her. Deep down he knows that she is right. Finding Ciri in the darkness of the night while surrounded by Nilfgaardian soldiers is impossible, but he can't fight down the knowledge that the child he now considers his, is out there, with a stranger, and she is hunted. 

"You find a place for the night," he orders and steps away from both Yennefer and Shereje. "I'll keep looking.---"

"The Child is safe!" Shereje sounds angry this time, her voice shakes with a power even more ancient than Yennefer's Chaos. The night darkens, even more, it's like Geralt has lost his ability to see. 

"I said, we rest!" 

Yennefer and Geralt share a look. They admit defeat for now. 

***

The darkness settles around them, but the Bard doesn't look particularly bothered by it. He stirs Pegasus through the woods, but they turn to the right before they reach the edge. After that, they move in zig-zags, and Ciri understands that this is so their potential pursuers would lose them. Out in the distance, she can see rows of grapevines and on their other side, a village. However, the Bard doesn't go that way. He leads them towards the hills. It takes them time, but when he finally stops and slides off Pegasus, she is confused. There is nothing to provide shelter for them, just the hillside. 

"This is a wine-producing region," the Bard speaks. Ciri follows his example and slips off Roach's back. The Bard leans forward and starts feeling up the hillside. Ciri blinks in confusion. "The wine, has to be stored somewhere, right? But lots of people like, no, love wine and let me tell you, this is really fine wine." The ground seems to shift under his hands and he grabs a handful of grass and pulls. "Even before the war, there were bandits, petty burglars, who sought this fine wine. The hardworking people had to protect their income," as he pulls and pulls, she gasps with surprise, because it's not just grass, it's a blanket that was made by grass, a perfect cover and behind it lies a door. "There is a witch in this story somewhere too, but I never had the time to figure out the order of the happenings." the Bard shrugs. There is a lock on the door, but the Bard isn't bothered by it. He pulls something out of his small pouch that's been fastened to his belt. It looks like a needle. He inserts it into the lock and moves it around. It opens with a soft click.

"How did you do that?" she asks eyes round with wonder. "Can you teach me?" 

"Only if you don't tell Geralt. There are things he shouldn't know about," he huffs. He opens the door and it's big enough that the two horses fit through too. The Bard whistles and Pegasus enters the place obediently. Roach snaps up her head once but then accepts the invitation too. Once they are inside, with Ciri's help, the Bard pulls the cover over the door again and shuts it gently. Ciri watches with a frown as the man manages to light a candle with two, strange-looking rocks. 

"You are not a burglar, are you?" she asks after a while. He blinks at her first, then his handsome face lit up with a smile and a burst of laughter escapes lips that shake his frame. She decides that she like his laugh too. It's like caroling bells. 

"I'm just a bard who gets into a lot of trouble. I had to learn to get out of them too when I don't have a Witcher around," he explains. He moves past her, deeper into the cellar, his blade in his right hand, the candle in his left. 

The realization slams into Ciri like a galloping wild horse. 

"You are Jaskier!" she gasps. 

He freezes in mid steps, almost comically. He turns slowly back towards the Princess and there is a frown on his face. 

"Excuse me?" 

"You are Jaskier!" Ciri repeats. This time there is no hesitation. She is sure. "The Bard! Geralt has told me about you!"

"Did he now?" His voice is strange. Gentle, like the tiny smile on his lips, but it also wakes strange and not pleasant feelings in Ciri. She doesn't know what to do with it. She still has another factor though, a mystery to be exact, to figure out. 

"He also said that you can't fight for the life of you." she crosses her arms in front of herself and regards the Bard with great interest. Like he is a puzzle that she needs to solve. 

He laughs loudly. 

"To be fair, I've never actually tried to prove it otherwise to him." he chuckles. "It's life-lesson time, Princess! I was eighteen when I met him, I've been a traveling bard ever since I turned nine. That's nine years without a Witcher. The last time I've seen Geralt was like... two years ago. If we don't count those little holes between our adventures, this is... eleven years. What do you deduce about all this, Princess?" his tone is not cruel, kind even. Like one of her old teachers' from way back then. 

"That you had to know how to protect yourself?" she tries. But she doesn't understand. "Why didn't you tell it to him?" 

"The thing about bards is that we don't like fighting. We love to sing, to entertain, to remember the heroics of others. We do not seek fights, but if we have to, we react. And here comes the real life-lesson. Sometimes an innocent-looking flower is a bloodthirsty monster that wants to eat you. Seriously. Last week it happened to me!" Ciri giggles as he fans himself theatrically. "Jokes aside," something flashes in his gaze that she can't name. "Just because something or someone looks and acts innocent, it doesn't mean that she or he is innocent. We are in the middle of a war. No one is innocent." 

His words ring truer than her former teachers'. Her interest peaks in the Bard. Even she can see how animated he was during his speech, but now, as he makes his way deeper and deeper into the cellar, a candle in one hand, blade in the other one, he is a lot different. Like the cats that lived in her castle. Funny when it tumbles off the table, elegant predator when it hunts. Ciri hurries after him. He is a totally different kind of interesting than Geralt and she loves it! So she watches how his eyes flicker from shadow to shadow. How his index finger is drumming gently on the blades handle. 

"You hold that candle funny," she observes. "Too low. We can't see properly this way." 

"Have you heard the stories of the dead winemakers?" he asks instead of raising the candle higher. 

"No." 

"It's an interesting ballad, I would sing it to you, but it feels like it would be a bad omen now." he shrugs. "Story short, there was a winemaker who was so proud of his wine that he went down into his cellar and counted the barrels every day. He disappeared one night. His family started searching for him the next morning. His woman found him dead on the floor of his cellar. When his grieving wife placed her candle on the ground, it went out and she died too. The same happened to their oldest son when he crouched down next to them. The candle went out, he died. The youngest son survived because when his candle went out, he ran out of the cellar. People believe that the ghost of the dead winemaker is the one who blows out the candle and kills the unsuspecting victim."

"Why?" Ciri asks, her eyes are wide with curiosity. 

"So he wouldn't be alone and this way he can share his wine with others." 

"But he is killing them!" Ciri exclaims. 

"Most of the time, bad things happen because of good intentions. Human souls are not designed for loneliness."

"You know a lot of interesting stories," she says as she keeps her eyes on the candle. 

"This is my job, after all!"

"My Grandmother used to say that bards are the best spies. They know everything." 

"Your Grandmother was a very wise woman."

***

They explore the whole cellar. When she asks, Jaskier admits that they are searching for intruders of the monster kinds. Luckily they don't encounter anything malicious and they make their way back to the horses. The scene they see surprises them both. The two mounts are huddled together and the way how they bump their heads against each other, touch their noses together, it - there is no better word for it - looks like flirting. 

"Hey!" Jaskier snaps. He raises a threatening finger at Pegasus. "She is a lady! Behave!" 

Ciri giggles as the horses jump apart, but even she can see the defiance in Pegasus' eyes. 

"Geralt didn't mention Pegasus," she observes.

"Our companionship is quite new, indeed," Jaskier says as he takes the saddle off Roach's back, then he does the same for Pegasus. Ciri eyes the lute that the Bard gently lowers onto the ground. She can't even remember the last time when she heard the song of a bard or anyone actually. 

"Can you sing for me?" she asks, suddenly shy. 

"I'd love to, Princess, but the song of a lute carries surprisingly far and there are still Nilfgaardian soldiers around." 

Ciri pushes her disappointment down because she knows he is right. It's just bloody painful. 

"Come, sit!" Jaskier orders. She does and he takes her hands into his. 

"It's not ideal," he murmurs as he starts cleaning the tears around her wrists with a strangely smelling cloth. "But it will do." 

He is gentle and surprisingly skilled. From Geralt's really short stories she knows that the Bard has taken care of his injuries too. She thinks that for such a reserved person like her White Wolf, it's a show of high level of trust to allow someone this close. Geralt has never said what has happened with the Bard. For a while, she thought that he has died. 

"What happened between you and Geralt?" she asks when her hands are wrapped in a clean cloth. His fingers still. He slowly looks at her and his gaze is thoughtful and, if she interprets it correctly, hurt too. 

"To be honest with you, Princess, I don't even know," he replies after a while. He considers the chat to be over, it's clear in his body language. He gives her bread which is definitely not fresh and they steal a little bit of wine from one of the barrels. 

"I won't tell if you don't!" he winks at her.

Then they settle down next to the cool wall of the cellar on Jaskier's bedroll. The place is cold and they can't start a real fire to warm themselves, so Ciri snuggles against Jaskier's side and he wraps an arm around her shoulders. He hums softly and she decides that she likes that sound too, a lot. Soon heaviness settles over her body and she has to fight to keep her eyes open. 

"You two should talk." she murmurs. The humming stops, but Jaskier doesn't say anything, so she soldiers on. "I think he misses you." 

Jaskier chuckles softly and ruffles her hair. 

"Sleep, Princess." 

***

  
Pegasus and Roach snap their heads up and snort their warnings. Jaskier hushes them as he gently untangles himself from Cirilla's octopus-like hold. He moves towards the tiny air hole of the cellar and listens. Heavy thuds of steps, clunking of armors, huffs of exhausted lungs. The Nilfgaardians are still searching for them. He stands quietly and waits. 

As the soldiers get closer to their hiding place, another sound joins the cacophony. 

Growling. 

Not one, several. 

Then there is howling, then there is the screaming of the soldiers. The sound of swords escaping their scabbards. Then thuds of falling bodies, more screams. Death rattle. 

Roach is huffing and shuffling, nervousness radiating from her body. Pegasus pushes his nose against hers in a calming manner. 

Jaskier smiles into the darkness. 

To Be Continued


	3. Deep Beneath Your Bed They Said

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Over those hills," he points into that direction. "there is a village called Irsahone. I have a friend there, who can help us out. There we can wait for Geralt." 
> 
> She perks up at that, but he can still see doubt and worry swirling in her blue orbs. "Won't we get him into trouble?" 
> 
> He chuckles darkly and turns back to the road. 
> 
> "She is trouble!" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still can't believe all this positive feedback coming from you! I'm so glad (and nervous)!   
> I hope you like this one too!
> 
> Comments are still very very welcome!
> 
> Bye  
> Esrite

Her little brother is a strange mix between a sunshine-framed puppy and a feral squirrel. He sings serenades to the wild birds, then attacks a farmer when he spits at the ground in front of Renfri's feet. With his bare hands. At the age of five... In the end, it has been Renfri who cut the man's throat, when he raised his hand to punch the child, but the sentiment behind his actions warmed her cooling heart. 

"I could have ended him!" the child huffs as she cleans his dirty cheeks with a wet cloth. They are sitting at the river bank, close to the water. They hid the body of the farmer in the woods and they ran from the scene knowing that their unearthly protector will find them no matter where they go. 

"What was your plan? Gnawing away on his throat?" she asks. 

"I've got sharp teeth!" he says and grins cheekily. He shows her his tiny rows of teeth. He is missing one or two. 

"Adorable," she pokes his nose with the cloth and ignores his outraged cry. "Next time use a knife! Much better!" 

"Children!" Shereje's calm voice surrounds them. So, she has found out. It was a matter of time. She is the Angel of Death after all. She walks-float towards them through the fallen leaves. 

Her little brother's face lit up at the sight of her and he jumps to his feet, almost pushing Renfri out of balance. He skips towards the dark woman, then grabs her black dress. 

"Shereje! I protected Renfri's honor!" he says excitedly, doing little jumps. Shereje can't help, but smile and Renfri knows that there won't be another lecture coming their way. 

A little sunshine framed puppy, indeed. 

***

Ciri has woken during the nightmare which is happening outside their hiding place, so Jaskier spends his night trying to keep her calm and silent. He soothes away her worries. He promises her that they are safe, that Geralt can take care of himself and he is definitely not in the middle of the bloodbath outside. This is how he finds out that Yennefer is here, with Geralt. He has mixed feelings about the sorceress, always had ever since their encounter thanks to the djinn's curse. But he also knows that Yennefer is an important part of the puzzle that leads to their ultimate destiny. So, he promises Ciri that Yennefer will be safe too. 

It's over by the time the first rays of sunlight touch the ground. 

He convinces Ciri to eat, despite her lost appetite, then he prepares the horses for the travel. 

"I go first!" he tells the Princess. Almost immediately she launches herself onto him, grabs his coats with an unbreakable fist and she pushes her trembling form against him. He wraps his arms around her, gently rubs her back. 

"It's okay," he says again and again. "The Night is over." 

It takes a few minutes, but he manages to calm the girl enough for her to let him go. He checks the lute on his back, the stiletto which is hidden in his coat, then he unlocks the door of their hiding place. Even his human nose can smell the coppery scent of blood thick in the air as he pushes the wooden barrier open. There are bodies all around. He has to step over one of them who has gotten close enough to their hiding place to pull down the grass blanket. He must have died right after that. The hounds have done an efficient, but a brutal job, he thinks as he finds a torn off hand. The rain is falling heavily, creating a red river that flows freely down the hillside, towards the rows of grapevines and then to the village. 

He calls for Ciri and considers asking her to close her eyes, but he decides against it. She is the Lion Cub. The Child Queen of Cintra. This is the part of her life as much as his. 

She gasps, her eyes round with horror as she leaves the safety of the cellar. 

"It's okay, Princess, we are safe." he soothes her. "Come on, we have to go."

Pegasus and Roach walk out of the cellar too. They are both familiar with gruesome scenes like this. They stand next to each other in stoic silence as Jaskier shepherds the Princess towards them. He helps her up onto the slippery saddle of Roach, then he flings himself up onto Pegasus. 

"The Sky cries for their souls," Ciri says quietly. 

"You know, the old stories say that during the day, the sky belongs to the Sun, while when darkness sets, it belongs to the Night." He gently stirs Pegasus towards the hills. Roach follows them silently. "At dawn and twilight, the sky belongs to them both," he says. 

"So, they both mourn them?" she asks. He notices that she looks straight ahead, towards one of the faraway hilltops. He doesn't mention it. 

"I think they both mourn what the World has become," he says instead and he is unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice. 

"Shouldn't we stay close?" she asks after a while. The bloodbath is behind them already, she seems to breathe easier. "Seek shelter and wait for Geralt and Yennefer? Eist always said that if I get lost, I should stay put, it's easier for them to find me."

"But we are not lost, Princess," Jaskier says gently. "We are on the run from Nilfgaard."

Ciri's shoulders slumps. She looks tiny under her wet cloak and Jaskier can't help but allow fond, protective thoughts to fill his mind. 

"Over those hills," he points into that direction. "there is a village called Irsahone. I have a friend there, who can help us out. There we can wait for Geralt." 

She perks up at that, but he can still see doubt and worry swirling in her blue orbs. "Won't we get him into trouble?" 

He chuckles darkly and turns back to the road. 

"She is trouble!" 

***

The child can't be more than five years old. He is dressed in dark, worn clothes. His brown locks are unruly on top of his head. He regards her with big, round, blue eyes. 

Something moves behind the child, pooling darkness swirls froward and wraps around him like a smothering monster. 

She lungs forward, pulling her Chaos to her, pushing against the darkness to get to the child, her motherly instincts screaming PROTECT. But her Chaos is nothing compared to the Darkness. 

She tumbles forward. 

The child is gone. 

Her eyes snap open just to find a huge hole in the cave's wall in which they sought shelter. Geralt is on the floor, next to the remains of the wall, slowly getting to his feet. There is wariness in his golden eyes as he watches her every move.

"You had a nightmare," he says. His gaze is telling as he glances at the hole, then back at her. 

"I'm sorry," she says despite herself. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" he looks uncomfortable even as he asks it. At least he tries, Yennefer notes. Ciri is a good influence on him. 

"No," she spares him and can't help the huff that leaves her lips at the sight of his relieved face. She looks around and notices that someone is missing. "Where is the Lady of Doom?" 

"No idea," Geralt says as he gathers his stuff. She takes a hint and starts to prepare too. "It's time to use her absence to our advantage!" 

The rain is falling heavily as they leave the safety of the cave. It washes away the prints that they could use for tracking Ciri, but Geralt guesses that Ciri would head for the nearest village to disappear in the crowd. Yennefer follows him without an argument. After all, he is the one who knows the girl better. She wisely doesn't mention the man accompanying the Princess. She doesn't think that the Witcher's patience could deal with that right now. 

They reach the edge of the forest when they hear the sound of hoofs hitting the ground. They freeze in place, then Geralt draws one of his swords. The one for humans. Yennefer steps back. She still not feeling one hundred percent and she prefers to use her powers as the last resort. However, it's not Nilfgaardian soldiers who approach, it's Shereje followed by two ownerless horses. 

"The rest of the journey requires riding," she purrs. 

Geralt and Yennefer share a look. So much for leaving the Angel of Death behind. 

"The village is not that far. It's easier to blend in without Nilfgaardian horses," Geralt tries anyway. 

Shereje's face is a mask of serene patience as she regards him with her black eyes. "They didn't go to that village. You need to ride. Come on, we are losing precious time." 

***

"He is a warhorse," Ciri comments. They have been talking about Pegasus as they ride past the village that has been hidden in the hills. Jaskier's friend lives in the outskirts, deeper in one of the valleys. Twilight has already graced the horizon. Jaskier promised to reach the mansion where his friend lives by nightfall. The rain is still falling, although it quieted down somewhat. However, they are both wet and shivering under their cloak and coat. 

"Tell me about it!" Jaskier uses his hands a lot, Ciri notes. He gesticulates widely, sometimes theatrically. He is every bit of that performancer he claims himself to be. 

"I had to serenade to him for... if I remember correctly that was four days! Stubborn bastard this one is!" he playfully pats the neck of the mount and Pegasus huffs at him. 

Roach suddenly snaps her head up, her ears turn forward. Her body is rigid under Ciri. A soft sound escapes her and Pegasus reacts too. He shifts nervously, whips his tail from side to side. 

"Easy, boy, easy!" Jaskier soothes him, but his face is tense too, his jaw set. 

"What is it?" Ciri whisper asks. She feels something deep in her chest. A pressure. A warning maybe? 

"No fucking idea," Jaskier mutters. He nudges Pegasus and they move slowly forward. Jaskier keeps his eyes on their surroundings and his hand slips under his coat where Ciri knows now that his long blade rests. Roach stays close to the other horse. Her ears are still moving with flickering movements, scanning for trouble.  
  
"Shit!" Ciri follows Jaskier's line of sight just to come and rest on a hand that is sticking out from under a bush. She knows that it belongs to a corpse because even in the poor light, the skin is grey and rotting. There are places where only the bone is visible. Moreover, scavengers have already gotten to it. There are bite marks here and there. She purses her lips and pushes the dizzying feeling of horror down. She has to get used to this! 

She turns her attention back to the Bard. Jaskier is in front of her and has a better view of the cadaver. He opens his mouth to say something, but Pegasus neighs a warning. Jaskier's head snaps to the other side. They both see as something moves under the ground towards them. Fast. 

"That's not a mole!" Jaskier shouts and both Pegasus and Roach jump into a gallop. There is a scream behind them and the sound of pounding feet. Ciri doesn't dare to look back. 

"Ghouls! Motherfucking ghouls!' Jaskier curses, his long blade is already in his hand, the other one is clenching the saddle to steady himself. 

There is wheezing, gurgling, growling coming from behind them. They are getting closer. 

Up ahead, a building's outlines appear. Even from here it looks run down, surrounded by mist. Ciri has her doubts about it, but she doesn't dare to voice them. Jaskier doesn't falter, so neither does she. 

The gates are open and there is a tall, slender figure standing there, holding something long. A spear maybe? 

The figure lunges forward and slips past them as the horses almost fly through the gates. Screaming, gurgling, howling starts up behind them with a new intensity and the sound of slashing blade joins the cacophony of sounds. 

"Who was that?" Ciri demands as Jaskier guides them towards the mansion. There he slips off the saddle and urges Ciri to do the same. 

"Listen to me," he presses. "He is not a threat. Keep this in mind, okay?" 

Ciri nods hesitantly. Silence has fallen upon the place. Then, there is the sound of heavy steps approaching them. Ciri turns to see the hooded figure advancing on them. Pegasus and Roach huffs and neighs their warning, but Jaskier hushes them. He steps in front of Ciri and straightens his posture. 

"I am Jaskier. Please announce us to the Mistress of the house, Caretaker!" he demands. The man, the Caretaker regards him a moment too long, then he nods his hooded head turns, leading them into the house. They stay in the hall and wait there. Jaskier hums a tune, that Ciri can't place but it sounds familiar. He moves around, touches this and that with a flicker of his fingers. Like he owns the house. Ciri stays very still. Everything feels strange around her and she has learned to be cautious. 

"It's okay," Jaskier speaks gently, smiling. "This is friendly territory."

"The ghouls won't hurt Roach and Pegasus?" she asks instead.   
  
"The Caretaker has taken care of the ghouls for now," a female voice spoke. They both turn towards the staircase where a woman is descending in her long, deep blue colored dress. She is roughly the same height as Ciri's grandmother, her hair is salt and pepper colored. There are crow-feets around her brown eyes and red make-up colors her full lips.

Jaskier's face lit up at the sight of her and he flies forward to envelop her in a warm hug. 

"Loredana!" he greets her enthusiastically!" 

"Hello, Jas!" she smiles and returns the hug. Then her face turns serious. "Were you in Irsahone?" 

"For fuck's sake!" Jaskier throws his hands up and Ciri giggles softly at his outraged expression. "You have written it down three times in your later that I must avoid Irsahone! Three - No! Four! Four times! Even in the fucking postscript! How retarded do you think I am?" 

Loredana just looks at him with a blank expression for an uncomfortable moment, then, "So, were you?" 

"NO!" Jaskier shouts and Ciri winces. She glances nervously at the dark figure behind Loredana, but the Caretaker doesn't move. 

"But now I demand an explanation!" Jaskier huffs and crosses his arms in front of himself. 

"So do I," Loredana says and looks meaningfully at the Princess. 

*** 

"So, you weren't joking when you said that the Night would take care of them," Yennefer addresses Shereje when they discover the gruesome scene at the hillside. Nilfgaardian soldiers are laying all around. Butchered, mutilated. Geralt sets his jaws as he glares first at the corpses, then at Shereje. 

"Only these weren't wild dogs," he spats. "these were hellhounds! I can still smell them!"

"Hellhounds are the Children of the Night too," Shereje's smile is serene. Geralt wants to wipe it off her face, but he knows that he can't. This is the first time he faces an Angel of Death. He has no knowledge of them. 

"They were summoned by the Prince of Hell. They reply solely to him." the dark woman explains. She courches down and caresses the face of a dead soldier. She looks up, seemingly at nothing, murmurs something to the air, then she stands again like nothing has happened. 

"They were protecting Ciri," Yennefer concludes. "Why? Why does the Bringer of the Apocalypse care about us?" 

"I do not question my Prince's orders." 

Geralt hisses angrily and nudges his new horse forward. He misses Roach dearly. This mount is a nag compared to her. 

"There is a village called Irsahone hidden in the hills. She must be there," he growls. Then he brings his horse to a sudden stop as a new smell reaches his nostrils. 

"Not in Irsahone, but in my home, the Ardand Mansion," A man speaks. To their surprise, they find him standing by the opened door of a cellar that sits in the hillside. He is leaning against the door frame and holds a wine glass in his long fingers. The glass is filled with blood-red wine and it glistens in the moon's light as he swirls it lazily. The man is dressed in expensive-looking, fine clothes. The crimson red of his shirt and the blackness of his dark pants go well with his dark-colored hair. There is mischief shining in his green eyes as he winks at them. "This wine has no pair in this Continent, I swear to you!" 

"What do you want, vampire!" Geralt says as he jumps off the horse. He rests his hand on the hilt of his sword, ready for trouble. 

The vampire waves his index finger at him and lazily pushes himself away from the doorframe. 

"The name is Eirlan and I do not mean harm. My dear wife asked me to accompany you and lead you to our home, so you can collect the Child Surprise. My wife, bless her soul, is not a mom material, she feels uncomfortable around children. Oh, hello, Shereje!" he greets the Angel of Death with a tiny bow. 

"Eirlan," Shereje smiles. "Please, lead the way."

The vampire grins and mentions them to follow them. There is a swagger in his steps that reminds Geralt of Jaskier. He slams a door on that thought. He is not thinking about that. He does not think about the Bard! 

He has no right. 

***

"I'm inviting the Butcher of Blaviken into my home!" Loredana slams down her glass on the table. There is a scowl on her face, dark eyes blazing with anger. She has been at it ever since Jaskier mentioned the name. At least Ciri is upstairs getting the bath Jaskier wishes for and doesn't hear the curses that pour out of Loredana's mouth. 

"I'm not thrilled about it either, you know," he huffs. He glances at the window, at the dark mist outside. Not thrilled? Understatement of the century. But what choice does he have? 

"We hand back the Lion Cub and tomorrow morning they'll be on their merry way." he tries to calm her down. 

"That man murdered my sister!" Loredana spats. 

"Renfri was my sister too," he replies quietly. That doesn't calm the brewing storm though. 

"Yet, you accompanied him around the Continent, singing praises of the White Wolf!" she rages. "I should have asked Eirlan to lead them into Irsahone!" 

"What is in Irsahone?" Jaskier laches onto the new topic. That halts Loredana"s rant and she turns her dark eyes on him. There is something strange in them that Jaskier can't place. She sits down and enwinds her fingers on top of the table. She leans forward, something bright shining in her eyes. 

"Something happened last night, right? What was it?" she asks. 

Jaskier looks away. His fingers trace old lines of the wooden surface between them. 

"I," he wets his lips with his tongue, "I summoned the Hellhounds. Just by wishing." 

"Than your powers are coming back to you," she concludes. 

"But I haven't started the Trials yet! It's early!" he snaps. Damn, summoning the Hellhounds felt so good, empowering even. But it also meant bad news. 

"No, not early," Loredana says softly. "We are running out of time. Do you know what's in Irsahone?" 

He shakes his head. 

"A creeper."

"A manifestation of fear," he says the words so softly that they are barely audible. 

_The first Trial of the Dark Prince to regain his kingdom._

_Kill Fear_

To Be Continued! 


	4. It All Comes Down To You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm tired," Jaskier tells the woman, then he turns on his heels and leaves. Geralt moves after him, not really knowing why and without a clear plan, but his instincts propel him forward. Lady Ardand steps between him and the retreating form.
> 
> "My brother said that he needs rest," she says, her tone cold, like the nordic wind. "In this house, you will respect his wishes!" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!
> 
> The next chapter is here! Sorry for the potential typos. I try to reread the chapters before posting several times, but sometimes they just slip through...
> 
> The idea of the Caretaker comes from the Game. I liked the character and wanted to play with it a little. I like creepy servants :D I think they should be best buddies with Shereje! 
> 
> Okay, so, I hope you like this one too! I am on Tumblr and created a side-blog under the name @offeralbardandprotectivewitcher. Meet me there! I'd love to chat and share ideas!
> 
> Bye   
> Esrite

Renfri nudges the child through the door. Men are standing in front of them, all rough and battle-ready. They all swore loyalty to her and it is time for them to do the same for her little brother too. 

"Come on, Julian!" she instructs gently. The child is wide-eyed as he stares at the men in front of him, but Renfri knows it's not fright, it's curiosity. What actually bothers her sometimes is the lack of fear in her little brother. Not that she wants him to fear things, but a healthy dose of that keeps you alive. Well, at least now they have this group of people to help out with that. 

Once outside, she tells the child what these men are, what their job is and in return what theirs is. Protect and be protected it is that easy in their world, she explains it to him. 

She makes each one of the men swear loyalty to the child. She beats it into them that this child is their most precious treasure and if harm falls upon him, not even hell can hide them from her wrath. They do not doubt her and they all fall to their knees in front of the pair. 

Good, she thinks with a smile. 

"Now our next mission, Stregobor."

***

Eirlan leads them on hidden paths. Shortcuts. They move fast because they use the less steep parts, but Geralt finds it strange that they avoid the village itself. In a very wide arch. 

At one point Shereje says goodbye and disappears. Eirlan isn't bothered by the dark woman at all. He even admits that this is not the first, not even the second time he has met the Angel of Death. But he refuses to elaborate.

"She is part of life, that's all," he shrugs. 

There are unpleasant smells that assault the Witcher's nostrils. Wild dogs, corpses, even ghouls, he can detect. But there is something in the village that catches his attention. Something unnatural. Something bad. 

"What's wrong with Irsahone?" he demands from the vampire. The smile on Eirlan's face turns tight as he looks back at Geralt.

"Later, Witcher," he promises.

They finally turn onto the main road that leads to the Mansion. The gates are visible from this distance just like the darkly dressed figure that's standing there. Mutilated ghoul body parts are framing the dirty path. Geralt growls at the sight. Whatever killed these creatures, it wasn't a Witcher or a human. 

"We have an infestation," Eirlan explains, "But we are dealing with it. Stand down, Caretaker! We have guests!" he calls out to the dark figure. 

"What the fuck is that?" Yennefer snaps. "Her violet eyes are wide as she stares at the tall creature that is dressed in black. They can't see its face, the whole of it is covered by its hood and a scarf. "Its aura, it's all wrong!" 

"He is not a threat!" Eirlan says. "Don't fear him and do not attack him. His sole purpose is protecting my wife's family."

Geralt decides to keep an eye on the strange figure. He knows that not every inhuman is a monster, but Yennefer's observation was right too. There is a dark air around it and the smells of blood and death hug the form like a perfume from Hell. 

The Caretaker stays back as Eirlan ushers them through the thick mist that surrounds the mansion. It's suffocating and cold. The grass under their feet is white and wet. Something is terribly wrong, Geralt decides. The building looks old and on the verge of collapsing. Yennefer mumbles something so softly that it's hard to hear even for the Witcher. It's about magic and demons. However, as they step through the threshold, they find that the building is in a lot better condition inside. It's warm and the numerous candles that have been lit all around give a warm and welcoming light. 

Geralt's feet freeze to the ground when the voice reaches his sharp ears. The voice he hasn't heard for two years, one month, three weeks, one day and five hours. He has been counting. He didn't expect to hear it ever again. Not after the mountain. 

Then everything slips into place. That faint something that he sensed in the woods and at the hillside. Shereje's words, the old friend. 

"So, now you have four cards and I, as your opponent, do this. What's your next step? Very good! Now..." 

The voice is cheerful, enthusiastic. He doesn't wait for Eirlan's permission, etiquette is kicked out of the window. The voice is coming from his right and he follows it, he arrives in a big living-room. 

He is really here, sitting in an armchair by the hearth. The color of his clothes is plain black and white, but they are styled according to the latest fashion and fit his tall and lean frame perfectly. His hair is longer than what it used to be and his locks curl around his face. They are freshly washed, unkempt, messy. He hasn't shaved and there is a light stubble on his jaw. He keeps his attention on Ciri, who is sitting in front of him. The Princess wears a dress that is surely not her own, probably a gift from Lady Ardand. Her hair is braided and curled up on the top of her head. Practical. She is engrossed in the game Jaskier teaches her, but still, she glances up when he steps into the room. Her too bright eyes snap to his face and she is already flying towards him with a cheerful cry of his name. He catches her and returns the hug like it's the most natural thing of his life. She is safe and finally it's easier to breathe. 

"Geralt! Look, I've met Jaskier! He saved me!" she tells him proudly. Then her eyes find Geralt's companion and she hurries to greet Yennefer too. Geralt glances back at the Bard and he immediately runs out of ideas of what to do with the suddenly closed-off expression. Jaskier is standing, has his arms crossed in front of his chest. His posture screams defensiveness. His eyes are cold, a warning is clearly conveyed by the blue orbs. There is no cheerfulness, mischief, just pure anger. 

"Thank you," his lips form the words almost on their own accord. Maybe he should have started with "I am sorry!", but those words don't come easy. They never did. Jaskier doesn't speak, he just gives him a curt nod. Then his eyes seek out the Mage next to Geralt and he says her name as a greeting. Yennefer must sense the tension between them because there is no jab or a teasing comment. Just a neutral greeting. 

Another woman walks into the living-room, hair salt and pepper colored, posture straight like a queen's, eyes sharp and disapproving. She doesn't even try to hide her dislike towards Geralt as she introduces herself as Loredana, the Mistress of the Ardand Mansion and invites them into her home for the night. Only for the night. That's clear in her carefully chosen words. 

"I'm tired," Jaskier tells the woman, then he turns on his heels and leaves. Geralt moves after him, not really knowing why and without a clear plan, but his instincts propel him forward. Lady Ardand steps between him and the retreating form.

"My brother said that he needs rest," she says, her tone cold, like the nordic wind. "In this house, you will respect his wishes!" 

Geralt is too stunned to say anything coherent. Because brother and sister? A vampire as a husband? Ghouls and a village wrapped in darkness? Dead Nilfgaardian soldiers and a rescued Princess? A stiletto strapped to the back of a bard? 

"You need a bath and fresh clothes!" Eirlan speaks. He is next to his wife now, a calming hand placed onto her shoulder. "If you don't have spares we can provide. Caretaker, please show them their rooms!" 

The dark figure steps forward and beckons them with his gloved hand. They are lead to the opposite direction of where the Bard has disappeared. 

***

Jaskier did not run to his room. It was just a tactical retreat. He knew that meeting Geralt was inevitable, but man, he was not prepared. Sighing, he leans his head against the cool glass of the window. This has been his room ever since Shereje has brought Renfri and him to their sibling. He was around seven when it happened. Loredana is two days younger than Renfri. She was lucky enough to have a family who decided to hide the girl who didn't cry, but laughed when she was born. The people were told that the royal baby died and no mage has ever laid eyes on the Princess. Loredana had been already the mistress of the mansion when Shereje appeared in Irsahone with two children. The hidden Princess adopted them almost on spot. The Children of Lilit can sense each other anywhere and in any form. Or at least they could. There are only two of them left now. The 60th sister and the son.

He turns his attention back to the world outside. He chose this room because of the huge floor-to-ceiling window that took up almost the whole east wall. There should be a clear view of the hills and the valley, the village. However, it's hard to see through the thick fog and there is no light in the village. He can't detect any movement outside. The people of Irsahone loved festivals, lampions, and music. They were very welcoming and Jaskier spent several nights among them singing and dancing. These people were the first who made him reconsider his role as the Bringer of the End of Times. 

But Irsahone is quiet now. Jaskier thinks about their encounter with the ghouls, about the man, whose corpse he saw in the ditch. There was terror permanently etched into his features. Fear like no other. 

There is a movement in his peripheral vision. He turns to see better. There is a wobbling figure getting closer and closer to the mansion. He watches how its limbs twitch and spasm unnaturally. The figure stops, the twitching ceases. It's still and it's the creepiest thing Jaskier has seen in his entire life. And he has traveled with Geralt a lot. 

"It's never gotten this close before." 

He nearly jumps out of his skin when his sister speaks from right behind him. She was always able to sneak up on him. Both her and Renfri. It has been one of their favorite game in their youth. He glares at her but Loredana just flicks a lock on his temple. She keeps her eyes on the creepy figure outside. 

"You lot has caught its interest," she says. 

"The village?" he wants to know.

"Gone before we understood what was happening. Eiran almost died down there. It was a miracle that he got away in one piece." 

"Can it get inside?" the damned creature still doesn't move. Jaskier can feel its gaze on them. He knows that he won't sleep that night. 

"Remember, the gates and the walls are protected by demon magic." Loredana pushes her shoulder against his. Her grin shows too many teeth. "Even if it can get across, after that it has to face the Caretaker." 

The Caretaker, as far as Jaskier knows, is a demon. It has been summoned by Loredana's father to protect his daughter from the mages a long time ago. It was an important part of Jaskier's childhood too. A silent, slightly creepy protector. 

"Still," Jaskier sighs, "They have to go as soon as morning comes. If they hurry, they can reach Felahil before nightfall." 

"Too bad, the Butcher is already asking about Irsahone," Loredana spats the name like it's poison on her tongue. 

"I have to talk with them, haven't I?" he groans and leans his head against the glass again. 

"Or we can unleash the Caretaker on the Butcher?" Loredana offers hopefully. He sends her a glare but like before, it doesn't affect her. 

"By the way, dinner is ready!" she ads and he groans again. Well, this will be awkward. 

***

She adores the dress that the Caretaker has brought to her. It is dark purple, almost black. She had to adjust it here and there, but it's roughly her size too. It has a simple but elegant design and what's the most important that it's easy to move around in it. She plans to buy it from Lady Ardand. Jaskier's sister. She finds this information surprisingly interesting, considering that she's never really cared about the Bard. Well, she found him entertaining, but not interesting. 

After finishing her makeup, she leaves her room and starts wandering. She tries to imagine how someone like Jaskier could grow up in a place like that. With a Caretaker like that.

She is on the ground floor when she glances out through a window and sees a figure standing at the open gates. She remembers clearly how the gates closed behind them when they arrived with Eirlan. She walks up to the window and narrows her eyes at the figure. It's unmoving, eerie. She feels her hair stand on the back of her neck. 

Then the figure wobble, its limbs twitch and it moves forward. Violet and crimson flashes between the pillars of the gates and the figure is pushed back. The mansion is protected by magic. Not by the Chaos of the elves, but the magic of demons. Then the figure moves forward again and is pushed back. Then again. Then again. Again. She loses count, but then the figure lurches forward one more time and the crimson and the violet explodes and the mansion is wrapped into darkness. All of the candles and torches are blown out by something.

Outside, the figure wobbles forward, towards the Mansion. 

She hears the thunder of feet approaching. She half turns her head to see Jaskier and Lady Ardand rush through the corridor. 

"What happened?" Jaskier demands to know. 

"What's that thing outside?" Yennefer asks back. 

"The thing that's wrong with Irsahone!" It's Geralt approaching with Ciri following closely behind. He is glaring at Lady Ardand, but the woman doesn't cower under his sharp gaze. 

"It's my family's business, Butcher!" she snaps. Yennefer sees Ciri's flinch and Jaskier must too, because he moves between the two, although they try to continue their glaring match over his head. 

"Everyone calm down!" Eirlan rushes in from the hall. "I've sent the Caretaker out. It will be dealt with."

"What is it?" Geralt demands. Lady Ardand opens her mouth again and by the look on her face, something nasty is coming his way but Jaskier beats her to it.

"It's a creeper," he says. He looks frustrated as he runs a hand through his fringe. As he moves, Yennefer's eyes catch sight of a long blade that is strapped to the Bard's back. Hilt nearly at his hips. Easy to reach and hide under a coat. Smart. Strange for a bard like him. Yennefer decides to comment on it later. She can see the Caretaker's form approaching the creeper, which is standing still again. 

"What is a creeper?" Ciri asks. They are all crowded around the window.

"Manifestation of fear. They were common during the Great Cleansing. Now, the Continent is at war. They are appearing again." Yennefer murmurs. 

Outside the Caretaker raises its spear and lunges at the creature. The creeper's form shudder and black smoke surrounds it. Its outlines blur. The spear goes right through it. The black mass shots forward. Long tentacles form out of the smoke and wrap around the struggling Caretaker. The tentacles pull and twist and stab, suddenly becoming sharp and steel-like. Green flash of light bursts from the Caretaker's mutilated body. Then as the tentacles let go, it slumps to the ground. Yennefer can no longer feel its disturbing aura. 

There is silence inside the mansion after the brutal kill. Ciri's hands cover her mouth, her too bright eyes wide with horror. The siblings have twin features of shock on their faces. Geralt is glaring and his teeth are bared. Eirlan just looks blankly ahead. 

"The sigils on the mansion, how long can they hold?" Jaskier asks, his words aimed at his sister. 

"Not long." 

"Do any of you know how to kill a creeper?" Yennefer demands. All eyes turn to Geralt, the obviously most knowledgeable in their situation. But he just shakes his head. 

"This one looks way too powerful. It will disappear when there is no one else around, no one else to fear it." 

Outside the creeper disappears, dissolves into the darkness and the mist. Yennefer's purple eyes search the garden, but she can't find it. It's lurking in the shadows, she can feel it. They have no time to waste. 

"I'll open a portal to -" she starts, but she is cut off by a chorus of "No!". 

Jaskier is wide-eyed as he shakes his head. Eirlan has his hands raised like he is ready to bodily stop her if she tries. Lady Ardand stands rigidly straight, her dark eyes have a strange brightness in them. 

"Why not?" Geralt demands. 

Jaskier opens and closes his mouth. He looks helplessly at his sister. 

"The mansion is protected against mages." Loredana's voice is cold. The hatred that seemed to be reserved only for Geralt is now turned towards Yennefer too.

"Why?" she asks. She searches the woman's face, then her gaze flickers towards the Bard who is inching in front of his sister slowly. Now positioning himself between the two women. 

"Because your kind finds great pleasure in destroying my kind," Loredana spats. She pushes her brother back with one firm move of her hand. "You lock us up, torture us, murder us, cut up our bodies, just because we are different. Immune!"

"The Curse of the Black Sun!" Geralt sounds chocked. 

Yennefer knows the story of Blaviken. Stregobor went into great detail as he explained the happenings. She remembers the gleeful twinkle in his eyes as he recalled the autopsy of Renfri of Creyden. It explains a lot, Loredana's hate of Geralt and Yennefer. The Mage glances at Jaskier, what does this all mean for him? Does the Curse affect him too? She has never really paid attention to Stregobor's manic rants. Maybe she should have. It would certainly make searching for the Bringer of the Apocalypse much easier. Her visions are just warnings, nothing helpful has come out of them. 

"Oh, for Melitele's sake! Can we concentrate? There is a creeper outside and if we want to survive than we have to find a way to get away before it gets in, so constructive ideas, people! No holding back on us!" Jaskier snaps. 

Crimson and violet flash across the mansion as soon as the words leave his lips and the walls shudder around them. 

"Let me correct that. The creeper is inside," Eirlan sighs with defeat.

To Be Continued...


	5. You're The Daughter Of Silent Watching Stones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He snaps up his head and his whole body goes rigid. Then he is up, stiletto aimed at the heart of the Witcher. He can't understand the emotion in the golden eyes, but he doesn't care. He wants him gone. The white-haired killer left his sister's body. 

"Julian, listen to me!" she has both of her hands on his shoulders, dark eyes gazing intently into blue ones. He is confused, she can tell. He senses that something is about to happen. She takes in the round face of this nine years old child. Somewhere deep inside her another face forms. This one is all grown up, blue is mixed with red. She wants to see it happen so much, but this is the path Destiny has chosen for her. They will meet again when Lilit is freed and they will bring peace to this wrong wrong World. 

"Whatever happens, you stay here, out of it!" she says and she sees his lower lip tremble. She steels herself.

He is nine years old.

"You stay away from Blaviken and you stay away from Stregobor! Do you understand? Stregobor is the enemy!"

He gives her a curt nod, his eyes are too big, too shiny. 

She takes a deep breath. She should be going. She'll run out of time. This is the hardest thing she has ever done. 

"And whatever happens, you stay away from the Witcher! Understand? Julian?" 

  
***

There is no real planning. No time for that and not enough information. Creepers are fast killers. They whip out a village in a night. The Witchers didn't have time to come up with a way to vanquish them when they were more common during the Great Cleansing. Now, Geralt curses his ancestors.

They decide to get to the stables as fast as they can and leave the property, then Yennefer should be able to open a portal for them all to get through. She is confident that she can get all of them to Felahil. Geralt is more skeptical, but he keeps his mouth shut. 

They move together, everyone on high-alert. When they reach the hall, Geralt and Eirlan stand guard while the others gather their coats, cloaks, Jaskier his lute. The sight of the familiar instrument jolts Geralt a little. He turns away, he can't afford distractions now. 

When everyone is ready, Eirlan and Loredana take the lead. The woman now holds a short sword, one that resembles Renfri's painfully. There is a familiarity in the way she holds it in her hand. She must be using it regularly. 

The pair is followed by Ciri with Jaskier and Yennefer on either side of her. The Mage is holding a fireball in her palm that's the only thing that illuminates the narrow corridor they are in now. Jaskier has pulled his stiletto free from its scabbard. The long and slim blade is tapping against his thigh as he walks. The soundless taps are probably substituting the humming he usually does in situations like this. 

Geralt is the last in line, guarding their back. He uses his supernatural hearing to search for the creeper. However, there is no sign of it. He bares his teeth as he pushes the horrible feeling of being hunted out of his mind. 

Yennefer shouts "Run!" out of nowhere. They do not question or ask but start springing through the corridor. Blackness shimmers on the wall next to them, and Geralt hears Jaskier's curse as black tentacles shot out grabbing for them. They dodge, jump and try not to falter. Ciri trips over a tentacle and crashes to the ground with a yelp, but Yennefer is already pulling her to her feet. Jaskier grabs her other hand and together they drag the Princess to her feet and forward. 

"Don't stop, run!" Loredana urges them as she swings her sword at a tentacle, but it passes through it without hurting it. Geralt's silver sword seems to be useless too, but it doesn't stop him from trying to cut through them. 

The tentacles pull back, but then the whole creeper's blurry form jumps out of the wall and tackles Jaskier to the ground while sending Ciri and Yennefer flying against the opposite wall. Jaskier turns as he falls with the monster on the top of him, the stiletto is held threateningly in his hand. He bares his teeth and actually hisses at the creeper like a feral cat. The stiletto goes through a head like thing and there is a screech. Geralt curses loudly and swings his sword at the beast. Eirlan jumps onto the back of the creeper, his nails are elonged and his sharp teeth are twisting his handsome features into one of a monster's. He starts tearing at the creature under him and both his and Geralt's effort gift them with an outraged screech. Then it's accompanied by another scream, something more powerful, it slams Geralt and Eirlan against the wall and rips the creeper off Jaskier. 

"Sweet Mother of-" the Bard gapes at Ciri's menacing glare. Loredana pulls her brother up, sends a quick glance over his frame to make sure he is one piece. 

The creeper's form is shifting and blurring, so Geralt orders them to run and pushes Eirlan's slightly dazed frame forward. The vampire stumbles once, but then they are back to their mad dash towards the back door and the stables. Geralt risks a glance behind himself to see the creeper take up a humanoid form. It screeches again and dashes after them. 

Loredana leads them through a double door and grabs one side, Yennefer the other and they slam it shut as soon as Geralt gets through it. Eirlan and Jaskier pull a big, heavy table in front of it and with the Witcher's help, they barricade the door. 

"Go, go, go!" Lady Ardand urges them, there is already something black leaking through the crack under the wooden barrier. 

They reach the back door and Jaskier rips it open. 

They are outside. 

The mist is so thick that they can't see more than three feet ahead. 

"On the right," Eirlan shouts and for a moment he can't decide if the creature is on the right or the stables are, but Geralt decides it's the latter as he feels Yennefer moving in that direction. 

There is an unearthly howl and something slams between them. A power so different than his own pushes him away from the others and he hears their alarmed screams and shouts. He clenches his fingers around the hilt of his silver sword and tries to listen. He can hear the others and he notices with a sinking feeling that they are moving away from each other in their confusion. He moves forward, towards the place where he is sure he hears Ciri's panicked little puffs of air, but when he reaches the spot, there is no one there. 

"Ciri!" he bellows. 

"Geralt?"

It's not Ciri.

It's Jaskier's voice, but it sounds odd. 

He turns slowly and freezes at the sight in front of him. Jaskier stands there, staring at him. His skin is ghostly pale, there is blood oozing from his lips, at the corner of his mouth. The left side of his neck has a deep cut in it, this part of his face and neck is covered with thick, dark blood. The white of his shirt is painted crimson, the black of his coat's collar is shiny. He holds Ciri in his arms, her chest is ripped open, her blue eyes stare at the sky, unseeing, her mouth is open, slack. 

"What have you done, Geralt?" Jaskier asks as he stumbles forward. His eyes are unblinking, they bore into the Witcher's.

His medal is vibrating against his chest and something in him keeps chanting wrong, wrong, wrong, but he can't take his eyes off his bard and the girl he considers daughter. Jaskier takes one more step towards him when the mist opens up behind the Bard and Eirlan is there with his too-long nails and twisted features. He leaps onto the Bard and pushes him to the ground. Ciri's body drops, she is sprawled out on the ground like a rag doll. 

"This isn't him!" Eirlan shouts at the Witcher. "This is the creeper!" 

Jaskier grins with too many teeth and his eyes turn completely black. He pushes forward and bites into the vampire's throat. Eirlan's eyes widen, his mouth opens and closes soundlessly. His hands slip off the not-Bard. The creeper pulls back his head and there is flesh between his teeth. Eirlan's eyes turn lifeless and he slumps to the ground.

His death snaps Geralt out of his trance and with an outraged battle cry he launches himself at the creeper. However, before his sword can touch the monster, it disappears in black smoke. 

"Geralt!" he spins, his sword is ready. Yennefer freezes, when the weapon is aimed at her throat. Her eyes widen as she takes in Eirlan's fallen body, but then she is looking at Geralt again. 

"We have to go!" she urges, but Geralt doesn't move, just bares his teeth at the woman. Yennefer is smart. She understands what has happened with the Witcher and holds her arm out to him.

"It's me. Smell me. You'll know." 

He does and he can smell that strange mix of roses and violets and Chaos. He lowers his sword and she reaches for his hand and pulls him after herself. She leads him to the stables, where Loredana is standing guard at the door. Inside Jaskier and Ciri hurry to gear up the horses. Roach greets Geralt with a happy neigh. However, Geralt is unable to return the sentiment. 

Loredana's eyes search the mist and she is gripping the door frame with white knuckles. 

"I can't find Eirlan. I swear I heard..." she trails off as she looks at them. 

Yennefer and Geralt glance at each other, but it's Yennefer who speaks in the end. Geralt can see how Jaskier's hands freeze and he turns towards them. There is something strange on his face. Foreboding.

"The creeper got him," the Mage speaks. Her voice is apologetic but unwavering. "I'm sorry for your loss." 

Loredana's face is blank, devoid of emotions. Her face is overcome by a ghostly pallor and her dark eyes flicker between Geralt and Yennefer. 

"Dana," Jaskier's voice is soft, barely audible. He walks up to his sister. Loredana's eyes flicker to him, but she is not moving towards the comfort he tries to provide, she is moving away from him by stepping back. Jaskier's face is pained as he holds up a hand, soothing. She shakes her head, there are no tears, just denial. 

She is close to the door, Geralt thinks. She is too close to the door. 

Jaskier's eyes are too bright as he takes another step towards the woman. 

"He is my everything," Lady Ardand breaths. 

"I know," Jaskier reaches for her, but her hands are frozen to the door frame. 

They should be escaping. 

Yennefer moves forward too, to do who knows what. 

Loredana is impaled from behind. Her dark eyes blink at the thing that burst through her chest. It looks like a spider leg and it's covered with her blood. She turns her gaze to her brother, who is standing barely a step away from her, hand frozen in the air. 

"Dana..." Jaskier stutters. 

Her fingers leave the door frame and she reaches back, seeking the comfort of her family one last time.

She is yanked away as her fingers brush against his brother's. 

Jaskier is out of the stables before Geralt can react. He disappears in the mist. 

"Fuck!" Geralt shouts and he follows. 

"Geralt! Wait!" he hears Yennefer's voice, but he has other priorities now. 

  
***

His sister was nine years old when he was born and the Angel of Death placed him into her arms. He is nine years old when he watches a man with hair like snow lower his sister's lifeless body to the ground. 

He is nine years old and doesn't understand why his family lies butchered on the ground. These men protected him, taught him how to fight with his bare hands, how to play the lute. Each night they told him oh so interesting stories to help him sleep. He is a restless sleeper. He can't sleep without them. 

His big sister lies on the ground with half-closed eyes and doesn't move and he can't feel her. There was no moment in his life when he couldn't feel her. 

He wants to scream and rage and kill. But the white-haired man stands there and mourns his sister. He can see it, he can sense it. 

He is nine years old and doesn't understand the people who swarm the place. He sees the old Mage and he knows it's the Stregobor and he knows that the man will die burning in hellfire. He will be the one who'll lit it. It's not a promise, it's a certainty in his future. 

The Killer points his sword at the Mage and protects his sister's body. But the words and stones fly and the white-haired killer leaves. 

He is nine years old and doesn't understand the word autopsy, but that's Stregobor and he can't have his sister. He opens his mouth to scream at the white-haired killer to stay and protect his sister, but no sound escapes his lips. Tears are streaming down his face and he screams and screams without sound. 

"I'm sorry, my Little One," Shereje picks him up and he trashes and screams, but no one hears and he is carried away.

He can't protect his sister. 

***

The mist burns his eyes and his throat as he runs, but his steps don't falter. He can still feel her. He can still follow her. The creeper is in front of him with his sister. 

He can still feel her. 

He jumps over the Caretaker's body and doesn't feel anything towards his deceased protector. 

His sister.

The gates are open, his mind registers it somehow as he runs across the bridge that leads out of the estate. The mist is so thick that he can't see anything. 

He has to reach her. Grab her hand. 

Something rams into him and he is pushed to the ground. A feral cry leaves his lips and he lashes out with his stiletto. It sinks into flesh and a ghoul screams. 

He staggers to his feet and starts to run again, but ghouls attack from every direction. 

He. Can't. Get. Through.

His sister. Renfri's half-closed eyes. He is not mute now. 

"OUT OF MY WAY!" he screams. His voice sounds odd, even for him. 

The ghouls cower. They push their bodies to the ground. They kneel, they whimper. They move out of his way. They disappear under the ground. 

His knees hit the ground and a sob escapes. 

He can't feel her. 

Tears are rolling down his cheeks and his whole body trembles with his grief. 

He can't feel her. 

Loredana shares a smile with Renfri in his mind and he claws at his own face. He had sixty sisters. He was only allowed to know two of them. He watched both of them die. 

He was nine years old and it was a vampire who paced a room with a sobbing child in his arms, telling never-ending stories, silly little things to hush his cries. 

"The creeper got him," Yennefer said. 

Eirlan is dead too. 

"Jas!" 

He snaps up his head and his whole body goes rigid. Then he is up, stiletto aimed at the heart of the Witcher. He can't understand the emotion in the golden eyes, but he doesn't care. He wants him gone. The white-haired killer left his sister's body. 

He wants him to hug him. He is alone. His family was murdered one by one in front of him and there is no one to take the burden away. Shereje can't come, this is his fucking destiny and she is not strong enough to rebel against the dark and the light. 

_If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!_

He bares his teeth. He is hurt and he is lost and wants the comfort, but he is shattered.

Geralt doesn't even know what kind of shit he is even destined to shovel onto the World. It's inevitable. The river valleys are filled with blood. It was always about their blood. That's the fact Stregobor failed to realize. He was the one who let the blood flow. Now, the last daughter of Lilit is dead too. The last seal over his Mother has broken. 

His eyes widen, the stiletto falls from his suddenly slack fingers. He staggers forward and throws up. 

The last seal is broken. Only the key to the door is missing. 

"Jas," Geralt is close again and he lashes out with his bare hand.

"Don't touch me!" he wants to scream, but it remains trapped inside. "Touch me, shield me!" lurks closer to the surface, but stays locked inside him too. 

Gods fucking damn it! He was supposed to have more time.

He hears the sound of hooves hitting the ground. Horses approach. Geralt's leg is pushed against his back and it's comforting, but...

_If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!_

He moves away and grabs his own blade. 

Ciri is on Roach's back, while Yennefer rides a white horse. The Princess's cheeks are red and shiny with tears. It's strange. This is the first time that someone grieves for his family. 

Yennefer slips off her horse and she straightens her shoulders. They are away from the protected grounds. She can use her magic freely.

"We have to go," she says. 

Jaskier pulls himself to his feet because Ciri is there and he has saved her life. Shereje has taught him that he is responsible for every life that is prolonged by his hands.

Geralt has abandoned her once, after all. He won't.

It's not fair, but also if life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!

Then he is pushed roughly off his feet. He hears the screeching and Geralt's grunt. The creeper is above them, on the tree. It has no form, but a blurry black smoke is curling between the branches. The only solid part is the spider leg with which it tried to stab him too. Geralt pushed him out of the way and managed to nick his own arm on the limb. 

The horses neigh in fright, the two stolen Nilfgaardian ones are ready to bolt. 

"Pegasus!" he shouts as Geralt orders "Roach!" 

They start running, humans and horses equally. Yennefer takes up the rear and she holds her hands in front of herself. The portal opens up in front of the horses. Roach is the first through with Ciri safe in her saddle. Pegasus chases the two Nilfgaardian mounts to safety. Geralt should be the next, but he hesitates, wanting to wait for them. 

Jaskier is only a few steps behind him and he snaps "Go!" at him. They don't have time to play knight and damsel. The Witcher goes through. 

The Bard is almost there, one step and he will arrive to safety. 

The portal vanishes in thin air and he hears Yennefer pained scream behind him. He spins around and stares. 

Yennefer is kneeling on the ground, clenching her bleeding shoulder with gritted teeth. He can't see the creeper, but it doesn't matter. She is hurt. She can't open another portal. 

They are trapped. 

They stare at each other, violet meets blue. 

"FUCK!" 

To Be Continued... 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm sorry? 
> 
> *hides in a dark corner*


	6. You Watch The Stars Hurl All Their Fundaments In Wonderment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I envy you," she says quietly. 
> 
> "Envy me?" Jaskier gaps. What is there to envy? His life is a disaster. No, a series of disasters.
> 
> "Yes, I envy you." Yennefer breaths. "You don't have to make decisions that will decide the fate of the World. All you have to do is sing about other people's decisions." 
> 
> Oh, dear Yennefer...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! 
> 
> I hope you like it! Have a nice day!
> 
> Come holler at me on Tumblr at @offeralbardandprotectivewitcher
> 
> Bye  
> Esrite

There is a stomach sinking moment when they stare at each other, reality sinking in. It's not just that they are trapped with a monster which is as far as they know is indestructible, but they are stuck with the person they... are less fond of. Yennefer always considered the Bard a liability, while Jaskier thought that the Sorceress is unpredictable and dangerous. 

Now they are stuck together, depend on each other. 

Jaskier's eyes find the wound on the Sorceress' shoulder. It's under the collar bone and the joint. It is bleeding sluggishly, but constantly. Yennefer seems to breathe harder than normal, and he knows it's not just because of the pain. There is a common misconception that shoulder wounds aren't that serious. It's wrong. Almost most of the time there is lung involvement. 

In short, she is in trouble. 

He starts towards her because they have to get out of there before the creeper comes back. However, he is not the only one who approaches the Sorceress. The man who steps out of the cover of the tree is middle-aged, he has a salt and pepper colored, short beard. He is dressed in cheap, rough clothes. The malice with which he looks at the woman is what causes Jasker's steps to falter. 

"Four marks!" the man spats. A cruel smile curls on his face. 

Yennefer's eyes go wide and round. There is a trembling to her lips that Jaskier hasn't seen before. Her fingers dig into her wound and she starts pushing herself away from the man. Scrambling backward. 

The man advances on her, his eyes taking on a crazy brightness. 

"Four marks!" he repeats. 

He reaches for the Sorceress when Jaskier's stiletto goes through his arm. 

Jaskier doesn't think, isn't even aware of himself throwing the blade. He only registers that Yennefer of Vengerberg is scared. She is never scared. 

The man turns towards him and there is a snarl on his face. He pulls the blade out of his arm and throws it onto the ground. Dark blood oozes from the wound. His eyes turn completely black, like Shereje's, only while the Angel of Death's black eyes are calming, these ones are disturbing. Then the man grins with too many not human teeth and his outlines start to blur. 

Jaskier finally understands what happens. 

Creepers are manifestations of fear. When they hunt someone, they appear as the manifestation of that certain individual's fear. 

Shit!

His own, personal fear... Oh no no no no no! Don't!

The shifting stops and the creeper is stuck between that middle-aged man's form and something else. It lets out a confused sound. Jaskier doesn't celebrate, he keeps up his prohibitory thoughts. The creeper screeches and it takes a form of something black-skinned and humanoid, only there are no eyes or ... face. It wobbles from side to side and starts to make its way towards Jaskier. 

As he stumbles the Bard tries to come up with a plan but he is falling short on ideas. A glance shows that Yennefer is still kneeling on the ground, hand on her wound. She is murmuring softly under her nose, her wide violet eyes not leaving the staggering form of the creeper. 

One of the arms of the creeper turns into that hated spider leg and it's aimed at Jaskier. He jumps out of its way and rolls. In the middle of the movement, he has a thought. He has summoned the hellhounds once. Maybe...

He reaches out with his mind and feels several primal things reply to his call. As the spider leg flyes towards him again, he jumps and stumbles over something. The ground moves and a ghoul breaks to the surface. It screams at the creeper and attacks. It doesn't take long for the creeper to kill it, but a new ghoul appears, then another, another. 

Jaskier doesn't wait any longer. He scrambles towards Yennefer and grabs his discarded blade from the ground. She is gaping at the scene openly, but she almost stabs him with a blade when the Bard touches her uninjured shoulder to get her attention. She allows him to help her, to take some of her weight as they try to escape the fray. They stumble a few times, then she throws her hand up and a portal appears in front of them and they fall through it.

They crash to the ground, Yennefer is on the top of him. He grunts as her elbow meets with his ribs. She is muttering under her breath as she pushes herself off him. She still needs to lean against him as they stand. 

In the distance, they can hear the screeching of the ghouls. As Jaskier looks around, he recognizes the place. Old, wooden-walled buildings all around. There are no candles, torches or lampions, but the moonlight is enough for them to see the scattered remains of the fallen residents.

They are in Irsahone. 

"I couldn't get us farther," Yennefer says and there is something strange in her voice, is she apologetic? 

"Come, I know a place where we can hide," he says and helps her through the main street of the village. 

The house is still standing, he notes with gratitude when they reach it. The Vydmims were a winemaker family and they had a son who was the same age as Jaskier. They used to play together when he visited Loredana. This is how he knew about the secret wine cellar under the house. Jaskier helps Yennefer inside the building and leads her to the kitchen. He looks straight ahead, avoiding really looking around. He doesn't want to face the empty eyes of the now grown-up Amerd. 

He knows what floorboards can be pulled up and he reveals the secret passage to the Mage. He goes down first and scouts the place then helps her down too. The floorboards shift back to place above them on their own.

He lits a candle as far away from the venting hole as he can, then turns towards Yennefer. 

"Show me!" he asks and motions at her shoulder. 

She raises an eyebrow at him and he can't help the frustrated groan that leaves his lips.

"Oh, come on! I used to patch up Geralt! But suit yourself!" he throws up his hands. 

Yennefer sighs and lowers herself down onto the ground, next to the candle. Jaskier pries a bottle from the shelves, opens it and hands it to her. She takes a greedy gulp, then pulls her dress off her shoulder revealing the wound. Jaskier kneels in front of her and gently prods against the open skin. It's a stab wound. Something sharp went completely through her. He can feel something trickle in the air as his fingers touch the wound. Magic is already working on the injury. Maybe this is why she is breathing more easily than before. Still, the wound is long and stretching.

He slips out of his coat and tears at his white shirt. He doesn't have Geralt's healing potions, but alcohol is a disinfectant too, although not the best. He takes the bottle from her and pours a bit onto the cloth and starts cleaning the wound. 

She hisses but doesn't flinch away. She is used to pain, he notes with mixed feelings. When he finishes the cleaning, he reaches for a pouch on his belt and opens it revealing needles and threads. 

"I can't close it fully, because of the risk of infection." he apologizes. "But I have to put in a few stitches." 

"I know," she nods and takes another sip from the wine bottle. She is preparing herself. He puts in a few stitches, pulls the edges of the wound closer to each other, but doesn't close it. There is certainly dirt residue inside the wound still, if he closes it, then the inflammation and the pus would just create gangrene under her skin and would surely kill her later. He cuts the sleeve of his shirt and wraps it around the wound, bandaging it as best as he can in these circumstances. 

"Thank you," she says quietly when he finishes. 

"You are very welcome," he nods and puts away his tools. Uncomfortable silence settles over them and it makes him jittery. He hates this kind of silence. He listens for the sound of the ghouls in the distance, but he can't hear them anymore. 

"Do you think..." he starts to ask, but Yennefer cuts him off. 

"The creeper killed them all. It's already searching for us," she says with her sharp honesty. 

"We were lucky they came, otherwise..." he tries. 

"It was not luck!" he freezes when the words leave her lips. He glances at her carefully, but she is not looking at him. She is glaring at the candlelight. 

"It was the Bringer of the Apocalypse. He has been guarding us," 

"Oh," he says. He watches as she readjusts her dress to cover her shoulder. Her eyes are full of rage.

"I don't know why he does that!" she seems to be lost in her own thoughts, in her head. Probably she isn't aware that she is ranting to him. 

"What's his goal? He has to recognize that we are planning to kill him, so why helping us?" she runs a hand through her messy hair. 

"You plan to kill him?" he asks. His question catches her attention and she stares at him. 

"It's not like we have a choice. He wants to end the World," she says and she looks away. He searches her face and surprised to find guilt there. On Yennefer of fucking Vengerberg's face. 

"You don't want to kill him," he notes. He is surprised. He expected the murderous thoughts turned towards him, but not the hesitation. 

"Of course, I don't want to!" Yennefer snaps. "As far as I know, he is just a child. But there is no way out of it. Just evil and lesser evil." 

"This dilemma's result was the butchering in Blaviken," Jaskier speaks. 

Violet eyes are sharp as they are turned on him, then surprisingly they soften as they roam his face. 

"I envy you," she says quietly. 

"Envy me?" Jaskier gaps. What is there to envy? His life is a disaster. No, a series of disasters.

"Yes, I envy you." Yennefer breaths. "You don't have to make decisions that will decide the fate of the World. All you have to do is sing about other people's decisions." 

Oh, dear Yennefer...

***

Geralt jumps through the portal and fights down the dizziness as fast as he can. He turns to help, pull the others through, but before he can reach for Jaskier, the portal disappears. The last thing he hears from the other side is Yennefer's pained scream. 

Then nothing. 

He stands there, staring at the long, old road in front of him blankly. 

"Geralt?" 

He turns slowly towards Ciri when she calls for him. She is still sitting in Roach's saddle. Her face is scarily pale, her eyes wide, pupils dilated. He hurries to her and pulls her gently down. She is already wrapping her arms around him, seeking a comforting hug, which he gives her without thinking about it. 

"What happened to them?" she asks after a while. 

He wants to say that they are okay, they will be there in a minute, but he can't. If Yennefer has fallen than Jaskier has no chance to survive either. They are most likely dead, just like Loredana and Eirlan. The thought almost brings him to his knees. Because they were important. Yennefer and Jaskier were very important. He remembers that desperate, raged way how Jaskier spun towards him, almost ready to kill the Witcher with his blade. He had seen Jaskier act like a feral cat before, in bar fights, against stray monsters that had slipped past Geralt, that thing about Valdo Marx, but last time, when he looked into those blue orbs, there was something new, something he can't name, but shouldn't have been in those eyes. He wanted to help with that. To take that something out. To do things right, finally, but he has lost his chance. 

"I don't know," he says softly, answering her question. 

"We have to go back for them!" Ciri is already pushing herself away, new determination on her face. 

Go back? Geralt stares at the old road again. If they are dead, they would walk back into the creeper's hunting ground, prolonging its existence and get killed too. But if... if there is a slight chance that they are still alive, then he cannot abandon them. He looks back at Ciri. He can't take her with him. 

"Welcome to Felahil!"

He spins towards the gravely, familiar voice. Shereje is walking towards them with all her fucking glory. Geralt bares his teeth and unsheathes his silver sword. He advances on her, but when she holds up a hand, he stumbles, then his knees hit the ground. He lets out a frustrated shout and glares at the Angel of Death. 

"WHERE WERE YOU!" he roars at her. "We needed you!" 

Her sigh is sad, guilty even, but he can't be sure. With her, he can't be sure about anything.

"I can not intervene with Destiny's plans," she replies. 

"Bullshit!" Geralt spats. "You saved us from the Nilfgaardians! You could have done the same with the creeper!"

"I could not!" she doesn't raise her voice, but coldness grows heavy around them, conveying her anger. "They have to defeat the creeper together!" 

"Wait... what?" Geralt blinks. "They are alive?" 

Shereje smiles serenely and she lowers herself onto a fallen tree trunk. 

"Of course they are still alive. It's part of Destiny's plans, the Bard and the Mage have to defeat Fear, together. We just have to wait for them. Shall we?" 

***

Silence settled upon them after Yennefer's confession. Jaskier has moved to the venting hole and tries to listen for the creeper's return. There is nothing out there. No sound. 

"We have to kill it, as long as we are here, it won't disappear and we can't get past it," Yennefer speaks. She is still sitting next to the candle, staring into the fire. 

"How do we do that?" he asks back. His hand slips to his stiletto and wait... 

"I have no idea. Chaos didn't work on it," Yennefer frowns. 

"But my blade did," Jaskier speaks with wonder. He pulls his stiletto free from its scabbard and he stares at it. There is still dark blood on it. 

"What is it made of?" Yennefer asks. 

"Steel and silver mixed, but that's not it!" He looks at her and swallows. Oh, boy, this will be hard. 

"The form it took," he says carefully. She narrows her eyes at him, but he continues, because maybe they have a solution. "It was a human. This blade can hurt humans." 

Her eyes slip away from him, finding the flame again. He waits patiently, probably the first time in his entire life. He knows what he is asking from her. He feels the weight of it on his shoulders. 

"Creepers are manifestations of people's fears," she speaks after a while, eyes stubbornly watching the flame. "They can take the form of our worst fears." 

He watches her and slowly, she turns towards him. There is something he has only seen once in her eyes. It was on that cursed mountain, she turned away from Geralt and Borch, there was an unnatural brightness to her eyes. Vulnerability. It's there now and it stuns Jaskier into silence. 

"This man... is the manifestation of my worst fear," she says. "I thought I left it behind, but here he is, again." 

He moves towards her and slowly sinks onto the ground to be on eye level with her. 

"It can make an invincible monster killable," he says softly. He knows what he is asking from her and it feels like a new level of cruelty. 

"What is your worst fear?" she asks. She is trying to compose herself after revealing something so personal to someone ... like him. It's natural that she wishes for something in exchange. 

He thinks about it. Back in the woods, he feared that his destiny would come to light in the form of his fear, but now he is not so sure. 

"I fear lots of things," he admits. "I am not sure which is my worst."

"The creeper couldn't take a form when it tried yours," she says. She is curious, calculating. He just hopes that she won't figure it out.

"Maybe it's because of Dana," he says. He means mostly his inheritance as a Dark King, but she only knows about his grief. Her eyes soften and this way, he finds that she is quite pretty. 

"I'm sorry for your loss," she says softly. The same few words destroyed his sister's life too. 

He nods and allows silence to settle over them again. He knows that the creeper is probably close now. The Mansion is not that far from the village. Yennefer must share his thoughts because she visibly steels herself. When she looks at him again her eyes are serious, battle-ready. 

"This is my worst fear," she says. "This is what I'm trusting you with." 

***

They chose their battleground and decided on a semi-open place. It's the marketplace. Yennefer stands in the middle of it, leaning almost casually against the fountain. It would look casual, but her shoulders are stiff, her eyes cutting. 

Jaskier is hiding in one of the booths which from he has a clear view of Yennefer and of the main street which from they expect the creeper to emerge. He tightens his fingers around his stiletto's hilt The blade is a familiar, calming weight in his hand. He chews on his lower lip and stills his fidgeting. He is not good at waiting, he is too impulsive for that. 

Then they hear a sound in the distance, maybe at the edge of the village. The clinking sound of a kicked over bucket. He tenses and a flicker of his eyes confirmed that Yennefer has heard it too. She straightens herself. 

The creeper comes from the expected direction, but it has the wrong form when it emerges from between the houses. It looks like a crossbreed between a kikimora and a cockroach. A very disturbing and a very wrong form. He hunkers down as it gets closer to his booth. He curses inwardly because he can't kill it this way. Not yet at least and Yennefer is still injured. 

But then the Mage steps forward and looks at the thing with clear disdain in her eyes. 

"I'm not afraid of you!" she declares.

The monster's steps falter, then it stops moving. It's between Jaskier and Yennefer, in perfect position, but in the wrong form. Then the monster's outlines blur and its whole frame shifts, then there it is, the man. His arm is still bleeding. He bares his teeth at the Mage, who is slowly backing away from him now. 

Jaskier slips out of the booth and stalks towards the monster, the blade is ready. He knows that he has only one chance, he has to make it count. He approaches the monster soundlessly, raises the blade and aims for the neck. He doesn't know what gives him away, but at the last minute, the man turns and grabs the blade and bends it backward in his hand. Jaskier curses as it's pushed against his own neck. It cuts him, not deeply, but he still feels blood oozing from the wound. He curses and yanks his neck away from the blade while the muscles in his arms strain against the force. 

The man grins with too many teeth and his outlines start to blur. 

Shit!

"Hey!" he hears Yennefer's shout and something slams into the creeper. It's a fucking table. The Mage steps between the Bard and the monster and its outlines settle on the man again. He snarls as he stands and he has Jaskier's blade in his hand. 

"Four marks!" he spats and Yennefer flinches. "That's your worth! Oh, even less! Now, you can't even produce a-" 

The ax is there, dropped onto the ground, probably during a desperate fight for someone's life. Jaskier doesn't think as he grabs it, then he brings it down on the body of the snarling man. Again and again. Blood splatters onto him, it covers his face and clothes. He only stops when there is no movement in front of him. Then his vision clears up and he sees the man, now dead, lying at his feet. Then the corpse melts into an ugly, black, smelling poodle. 

His eyes meet Yennefer's violet ones and almost in unison, they sink onto the ground. They don't speak, but a mutual understanding and gratitude settle between them. 

Jaskier doesn't think about that new sensation, that _something_ he feels rolling under his skin. 

He has finished the First Trial. 

To Be Continued...


	7. At You And Yours, Forever Asking More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well, it’s farewell, for now, I guess,” he says softly and one by one he lits the pyres. The pair stand next to each other and watch. An ancient lullaby comes to his mind and he hums it softly. This lullaby is something he has known ever since he was born., but he never sang it. The words belong to another world. He thinks Loredanna knew them just like Renfri. Maybe he will sing it one day when his Destiny is fulfilled one way or another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!
> 
> So, I'm still alive I guess. You all know the new situation that Europe has found itself in. I work in a hospital and let's just say I have to work a lot. It will make writing very difficult. I'm sorry about that. Still, I would be happy to discuss things on tumblr. Find me under the name: offeralbardandprotectivewitcher  
> The whole story is being beta-read, so, when it's finished I'll repost it!  
> Stay tuned and take care of yourself! I don't want to meet you at the hospital! 
> 
> Love you all!

The Witcher must have arrived somewhere during his song. He would have noticed him otherwise. He keeps collecting the bread that has been thrown at him, but his attention is occupied by the darkly dressed brute. Nine years have passed since Blaviken. How ironic. It looks like the number nine has quite a serious part of his life. He recognizes the face, it has been etched into his memory ever since that fateful day. 

The White-haired Killer. 

_ "And whatever happens, you stay away from the Witcher! Understand? Julian?" _

He stands and follows the pull. It's like a string has been attached to his heart and whatever he does, it just pulls and pulls. Towards the Butcher. 

He reflexively snatches a drink from one of the barmaid's tray. He drinks the ale while he tries to settle on one emotion in his swirling head. Mostly it's fury versus curiosity versus Destiny's call. Renfri couldn't resist it either and she had the stronger will between the two of them. 

He settles on " _ I love the way you just sit in a corner and brood." _

Loredana will surely have his head for this, but fuck it. He has always been the curious one. 

He can kill the White-haired Killer later if he wants to.

***

He helps Yennefer as they walk to the Mansion. Actually, he is almost carrying the woman when they reach the place. Yes, they could have sought shelter in Irsahone, but the village is filled with corpses of humans and not humans. He will take care of it later, he promises to himself, but family comes first. 

He is not nine years old anymore.

He helps the Mage into the living-room of the Mansion and lowers her onto the long couch. Even Geralt would fit on that thing comfortably. She almost looks small on it. She mumbles something about Ciri and Geralt, but Jaskier ignores it. He pulls a blanket that has been made of wolfskin off the armchair and covers her with it. 

"Rest," he instructs. "I'll check on your wound later." 

Violet eyes look straight at him and to his surprise, he finds something kind behind the exhaustion. 

"Thank you," she says quietly. 

He blinks a few times, but she is already asleep, deep in a healing slumber. He cocks his head to the side as he regards her. Man, they are dead set on making the decision even more difficult, right? 

He turns and leaves the building. He doesn't worry about another attack. It's now a lot easier to reach out with his mind and search for danger or the Children of the Night. He stops outside and glances down at his hands. There seems to be nothing new there. However, ever since the death of the creeper, he feels like there is something new inside him, something bigger, feral trying to fit into his skin. That something had been him before he was born as Julian. If he decides to finish the Trials, this will be him again. 

Can he stop doing the Trials? Can he stand in the way of the avalanche?

He lets his hands fall to his side and starts walking. 

Family first. 

He remembers where the Caretaker has fallen. He even remembers jumping over the dead body, when... 

It is still there, body bent and broken. Jaskier crouches down and pulls the scarf off the Caretaker's head. It doesn't have a face, just skin sewn over where the features should be. The Caretaker always covered it, which used to make Jaskier even more curious as a child. Their servant always fascinated him. 

He reaches under the broken arms as gently as he can and lifts the body. It's heavy, but he doesn't mind. He pulls it to the tiny flower garden behind the Mansion. He lowers it to the ground and arranges the limbs, so the hands are resting on its stomach and he covers its face with the scarf again.

He has to search for Eirlan. The mist has almost disappeared, but he has no previous information on what happened to the vampire. In the end, he finds him near the back door of the Mansion. Green eyes stare at the now starry sky above them. There is nothing vampire-like about the man in death. He looks human. No fangs, no twisted features, no long nails. Eirlan used to be a very lively thing. He taught Jaskier to enjoy the things life can give to you. Like wine, food, sex, singing, dancing. He has been the softness to Loredana's sharp edges. 

Jaskier places the Master next to the Servant in the garden, in the same position, and uses a thick, dark curtain to cover his body. 

He prepares for the hardest task. He pulls his coat tighter around his slender frame as he walks through the gates. He finds the place where the ghouls attacked him during his pursuit. But as he crouches down to check the ground for any clue, he can't find any sign of the creeper being there. He walks deeper into the woods and tries to use his newly heightened senses for his advantage. Smells that he hasn't smelled before assault his nostrils and he has to stop for a second to fight down an oncoming sensory overload. It's like bursting to the surface from underwater. Everything is loud and harsh. He has a newfound respect for Geralt's control over his abilities. 

He spends a few moments like this, with his eyes closed, his brain working in overdrive to catalog everything. When he opens his eyes, he is startled by a dark-colored wolf that has crept up on him. He takes a step back, but the wolf doesn't follow. It pushes its body to the ground, it whines at him but otherwise doesn't move. 

Jaskier cocks his head to the side, now curious. He crouches down next to it and listens. The wolf's mind connects with his and he can feel its intention. 

_ Follow me!  _

Jaskier stands and nods. The wolf moves too, turning and slowly leads him deeper into the woods. As they move forward, Jaskier notices how the lower branches of the trees around them are torn or bent. The smell of blood invades his nostrils. 

They don't go far and he doesn't even need his silent companion for the last couple of steps. Even in the darkness, he can recognize Loredana's deep blue colored dress. She is sitting on the ground, propped against a thick tree trunk. Her head is rolled forward, resting against her chest. Her mouth is slack, there is coagulated blood staining her teeth. Her dark eyes are open, unseeing. He closes them with two gentle fingers. Then he cradles her into his arms and he finally allows his tears to flow freely. He doesn't pay attention to his surroundings. For one, the wolf is still there, second, no Children of the Night would dare to attack him. Not anymore. His presence is finally clear in this World for them. And now, as he grieves the loss of his last sister, the Children's howls and cries fill the night around him. 

***

The black stallion, Pegasus, according to Ciri, has been restless ever since they came through the portal. It huffs, kicks the ground with its hooves, shifts from side to side. It shouldn’t be such a big surprise when it jumps into a canter and races past him, but Geralt’s mind is full of worry and impotent anger. He still tries to grab the reins, but his fingers miss the leather and the horse slips out of his reach. Ciri shouts after the mount, but its steps don’t falter, it’s gone soon after. 

“You could have stopped it!” Geralt glares at the Dark Angel who is still sitting on the log next to them. Of course, he doesn’t know what kind of hold Shereje has over animals, but blaming her for almost everything has become a new outlet for the Witcher. The Angel allows the storm of his angry remarks to pour down on her without comment. She looks content to just sit there and listen to the Night. 

Time passes and dawn is nearly upon them. Two more hours and the Night ends. Shereje moves, just a tilt of her head, but compared to her previous stillness, it’s conspicuous. 

“The creeper is dead,” she says. 

Geralt bares his teeth at her, because yes, it should be good news, but the creeper ceases to exist if there is no living soul to fear it. So, it could have died because it has been killed, or because it has killed its last ties to this world.

“What about Yennefer and Jaskier?” Ciri asks. 

Shereje softens when she speaks to her and Geralt doesn’t like it. 

“They are safe,” the Angel replies cryptically. 

“Then we can go back for them,” Geralt moves towards Roach or at least tries to, but his movements are stilled again by Shereje’s magic. “What?” he snaps. 

“The stallion has already done that,” she speaks. “You two need to move forward, they will join you soon. 

“You can’t be fucking serious!” he snaps. 

“Dear Witcher!” Shereje shakes her head. “You should watch your language. We do not want to taint the future Queen of Cintra, am I right?” 

He has several blush-worthy insults that he has learned from Jaskier himself, and he prepares to hurl them at her in his fit of anger, but the sound of approaching footsteps and the clinking of armor still his tongue. His mind immediately forms the word Nilfgaard. A quick glance reveals three approaching figures. He narrows his eyes and despite the poor light, he can see that no, these are not the black-armored conquerors. Still, he beckons Ciri close to him and she quickly pulls her cloak over her head. They have to do something with her hair in the near future, he decides. 

As they get closer, Geralt notes that it’s a nobleman with two guards. The armors are green and blue with a hint of golden. He doesn’t recognize the symbol on the chest plates, but he keeps his guard up. 

“Witcher!” the nobleman booms with his deep voice and opens his arms as an invitation. “Wellcome to Felahil! I am Tilomild, the alderman of this settlement. It must have been Fate that led you to our humble town when our King is in such dire need!” 

Words after words stumble out of the alderman’s lips as he goes into a way too complicated speech. Geralt wants to punch him in his face and break a few of those yellow teeth. He doesn’t do that because of Ciri. 

“I’m not available now,...” He speaks instead. 

The alderman’s face darkens and Geralt’s fingers twitch for his sword. The two guards tense next to the man. 

“It was not a request, Witcher!” the alderman declares. “You will accompany us to our King!” 

These three are not alone, Geralt can feel the scent of the other soldiers. He knows that there are strategically placed bowmans around them. He is good at protecting himself but he has to protect Ciri too. He glances at Shereje, but the Dark Woman doesn’t seem too occupied by the exchange of words. She is staring off distance with a faraway look on her ageless face. Come to think of it, none of the soldiers or the alderman have even glanced at her, while they keep a close eye on Geralt and Ciri. He pushes down the ugly thoughts that form in his mind when Shereje turns towards him. 

“You don’t want them to know who the Lion Cub is to you,” she warns him. The three men don’t react to her words and it’s all the confirmation he needs. The others can't see Shereje. However, she is right. He can’t reveal Ciri’s identity to these men. An idea forms in his head and he knows that it’s not his best, but he is not Jaskier. He is more used to bruting his way out of trouble, speaking is the Bard’s strong suit. 

“I’m in the middle of a contact,” he speaks slowly, carefully, watching for reactions. “I was to find this girl,” he motions at Ciri “and reunite her with her parents. They are on their way here. After that, I will be available for your King.” It’s risky, he knows that. Royalties don’t like to wait. But all he needs is an opening and people are usually more empathetic towards lost children and worried parents. 

The alderman regards him uncomfortably long, but he has trained his facial muscles to not reveal his discomfort in front of others. Then the noble man’s features soften and the cheerfulness is back on his face. 

“Very well! We can give her parents two days to reach us. Even more so, if they come from that direction, they can have news on Irsahone. We haven’t heard from them for a few days now. Quite disturbing. Come, Witcher, Young Lady! You will be my guests for the time being. Believe me, our tavern is unbelievably expensive!” he lowers his voice conspiratorially.

Fuck, Geralt summarized internally. 

***

He is almost finished with the funeral pyres when Yennefer emerges from the house. Her face is unreadable when she takes in his work. Without a word, she helps out with the rest of the task. When they finish it, they stand next to each other silently. He has a lit candle in his hand and he keeps his eyes on the little flame, not the covered bodies of the last members of his family. 

“Funny,” he says quietly,” I don’t know what to say.” 

“Personally, I don’t think that words are always needed,” she replies equally softly. “What’s in your head is more important.” 

They brought a torch from the house and he lights it with the candle. 

“Well, it’s farewell, for now, I guess,” he says softly and one by one he lits the pyres. The pair stand next to each other and watch. An ancient lullaby comes to his mind and he hums it softly. This lullaby is something he has known ever since he was born., but he never sang it. The words belong to another world. He thinks Loredanna knew them just like Renfri. Maybe he will sing it one day when his Destiny is fulfilled one way or another.

They stay like that even when the fire dies down, it has burnt for a long time, Jaskier knows that. The sun is already up, the darkness of the night is gone. However, Yennefer is still there with him. In the light of the day, she looks pale and worn, but still strong. An unmovable force. 

“Let’s go inside,” he says. “I have to take a look at your shoulder.” 

“It’s almost healed completely,” she dismisses his offer, but her gaze on him is different. A lot has changed during this long night and it’s clear in her purple orbs. He doesn’t know what to do with that information. It’s Yennefer. They have known each other for years and well… saying that their relationship was rocky is a great understatement. 

“Oh, okay,” he nods. 

“You didn’t sleep.” she speaks. He shrugs at that. How could he? “You wore these clothes yesterday and your neck is still bleeding.” 

Well, she is not wrong, he thinks as he touches the side of his neck where the creeper cut him. His fingers come away bloody. 

“It’s not deep,” he says. He nearly yelps when she just grabs his arm. She is not gentle, he is not entirely sure that she still has softness left in her. Life was not kind to her, as far as he knows. He allows her to drag him into the house. He sinks down onto the first furniture in sight, an armchair. It used to be Eirlan’s. He allows Yennefer to take over. She needs it, he can feel that. She fetches water and a clean cloth. She decides that his shirt is ruined beyond repair and rips it away from his neck, despite his protests. Not that this shirt was important or anything, but still… manners. She cleans the wound with the wet cloth. 

“It’s not deep,” she repeats his words. She put a hand over the wound. He has to bite down on his lower lip because her Chaos burns! He can’t suppress his hiss. She pulls her hand away and frowns at her own fingers. 

“Did it hurt?” she asks. 

“No,” he says quickly. “Just… unpleasant. Strange?”

He touches his own neck and while the skin is still tender there, the wound is gone. “Thank you!” 

Her eyes slip to his exposed chest and a strange glint appears in those orbs. Then she clears her throat and turns away. 

“We need clean clothes,” she says. 

“Yep,” he smirks, because come on, how could he not? She glares at him, but it just makes him grin. Then he takes pity on her and leads her to Loredana’s and Eirlan’s dressing rooms.

“Take whatever you like,” he says, while he goes through Eirlan’s closet. The vampire was roughly the same size as him, which is good, but he had an unhealthy admiration for the color black. Just like Geralt. In the end, he finds a night blue silk shirt and pulls it on with a happy sigh. He pairs it with a black coat, not so happy sigh. He packs a few other garments into a travel bag. Their world is at war. Who knows when he will have time to do some shopping? 

He meets Yennefer in the hall. She is dressed in one of Loredana’s plainer dresses. Of course, it’s black too. 

On foot, they’ll need days to reach Felahil. Yennefer admits that she is still not strong enough to open another portal for the two of them and not collapse on the other side. She tires a lot easier than before, Jaskier observes, but he doesn’t comment on it. He suspects it has something to do with Sodden Hill. 

“There are caves which are frequently used by travelers there,” he points at one of the hills as they approach the gates. “We can spend the night there.” 

“One more thing,” Yennefer says and turns back towards the Mansion. She raises her hands and starts chanting in Elder. Jaskier stumbles back as the grass turns brown then dead around her. He feels Chaos rolling around them, enveloping his childhood home. Yennefer huffs softly and lets her hands drop. 

“What have you done?” Jaskier asks glancing between the Sorceress and the Mansion. 

“A protection spell. Opportunistic people tend to take over abandoned homes.” 

“A protection spell?” he parrots her words. He understands what her actions mean, but it’s such a new situation. The two of them helping each other… It really is the End of Times!

“It’s your home,” she says then adjusts her bag on her good shoulder and walks past him. He can’t help the smile that creeps onto his face as he moves to follow her. 

They walk side by side, Jaskier humming a song that is still just forming in his mind, He misses his lute. He just hopes it survived their companions’ mad dash through Yennefer’s portal. He doesn’t need another reason to hit Geralt. 

“Shh!” Yennefer’s hiss cuts his song off. He blinks at her, but his fingers are already slipping to the hilt of his stiletto. Then he hears the sounds of hooves hitting the ground. A horse approaching. His fingers tighten around the weapon. 

It’s Pegasus. 

Of course, it’s his loyal stallion, heaving and covered in foam. He lets go of the weapon and opens his arms when the mount stops in front of him. Pegasus pushes his head against his chest with a grumpy huff. His fond disapproval.

“In my defense, I was almost through the portal!” he tries. Pegasus pushes him with his head, then he turns presenting his back to him. He climbs up and makes himself comfortable in the saddle, then reaches a hand to Yennefer. 

“It will be faster this way,” he explains. 

Yennefer accepts his help and takes her place behind him. She wraps her arms around his middle and leans her head against his back. He freezes, he has pleasant and unpleasant thoughts racing through his head. 

“If you say a word, I kill you!” she mutters. He grins and with a move of his hip, he sends the stallion into an easy canter. 

To Be Continued...


	8. You Are That Space That’s In Between Every Page, Every Chord And Every Screen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She is confused when her hand stills as she reaches out for his temple.
> 
> She pulls her hand back and stares at her fingers like they are the ones not doing what they should. In reality, it’s her.
> 
> Gods fucking damn it! Somewhere along the way she has gotten attached to the Bard!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!
> 
> I know this is slow now, but I promise it'll get spooky and angsty soon!   
> Remember, kudos and comments give this author life! Any idea is welcome too! I'm curious about what you think, truly! 
> 
> See you (hopefully) soon!
> 
> By  
> Esrite

His personality annoys the White-haired Killer and it's worth the punch to the gut he receives for his troubles.

Then things change, his viewpoint shifts when they are captured by the elves. He listens and things don't make sense. The Killer is bargaining for the life of a human he barely knows, offering his as an exchange. He reasons with the elves, shows them compassion and  _ mercy.  _ It's confusing, it goes against Julian's beliefs. 

In the end, he writes a catchy song and accompanies the Witcher on a long journey. 

***

They stop when they reach the caves. The sun is setting and they don’t want to risk traveling through the night and Pegasus needs his rest too. Yennefer chooses a cave and Jaskier finds it curious that it’s the only one that doesn’t have a creature hiding in its depth. Despite that, the Bard sends out a warning, using his newly found mental ability. He receives confirming replies and the presence that he feels get further and further away. He volunteers to gather firewood, while the Sorceress arranges their things in the cave. He walks past Pegasus and pats his neck. The stallion is so exhausted that he has lowered himself down onto the ground, feeling safe enough to rest like that. 

The wood he gathers is mostly wet thanks to the rain from the day before, but he is sure that Yennefer can come up with a crafty spell to dry it. By the time he reenters the cave, the fire is already burning and he raises an eyebrow but swallows down his witty comment. He has to survive the night after all. 

She has placed their bedrolls onto two opposite sides of the fire, both of them away from the mouth of the cave. She has taken dried meat from the Manor with some fruits and vegetables. They eat in silence and he hums to avoid aimless ramblings.

“What’s that song?” Yennefer asks suddenly.

“Huh?” he blinks. 

“The one you are humming,” She huffs. “What is it? It sounds familiar.” 

“Oh, I don’t really know. It’s just stuck in my head. I don’t know the words, but I like it.” he shrugs. 

She watches him for a little while. He can actually see the burning curiosity behind her purple eyes. She hasn’t forgotten Loredana’s confession about her heritage, he knows that. However, she tries to be empathetic, considerate of his recent loss. He appreciates it. He lies down on his bedroll and stares at the flames and continues to hum the old lullaby.

“Go to sleep,” she says. “I’ll keep watch.”

“Nah! It’s okay! What kind of a man would I be, if…” he trails off when he sees her glare. “Okay! Okay! You don’t have to look so murderous!” he mumbles.

He hears her sigh. He can basically feel her surpassed frustration.

“When was the last time you slept?” she asks. “Because I know for a fact that you went at least two whole days without it.”

“I…” he starts, then he cocks his head to the side when he really thinks about the answer. Actually, it has been more than two days, but that’s not so strange. He has been always prone to insomnia. However, he doesn’t feel tired, which is new. He doesn’t share this with the Sorceress though. 

“Okay,” he relents and turns onto his side, away from the flame and the woman.

***

Jaskier doesn’t fall asleep immediately, but when he finally does, Yennefer starts contemplating. It would be so easy to just reach into his mind and get the information she wishes for.

But she doesn’t do it.

She is confused when her hand stills as she reaches out for his temple.

She pulls her hand back and stares at her fingers like they are the ones not doing what they should. In reality, it’s her.

Gods fucking damn it! Somewhere along the way she has gotten attached to the Bard!

She groans and rubs her head tiredly. When did it happen? Of course, she knows when it happened. It was the moment where the Bard hurled a blade at the creeper who was wearing her step-father's face. He hasn’t asked any questions ever since. If Jaskier of all people can respect her privacy, then she can do the same for him. Come to think of it, no one else has been this considerate with her in her long life. Jaskier doesn’t want anything from her and she doesn’t need anything from him either. This is something she didn’t know she needed but does.

She decides not to jeopardize that.

She moves to the mouth of the cave and takes in the Night. It has always been her favorite part of the day, even back when she was a child.

She is lost in thought, so, she doesn’t notice the subtle shift in the Chaos. It takes a warning neigh from Pegasus to bring her back to the present. Then she feels it. A shudder runs through her when her senses take note of the new presence. Someone wrapped into something darker than Chaos. She spins around, her first instinct surprisingly is to protect the sleeping Bard. Her outstretched hand freezes in the air as she sees the figure crouching next to her companion. The figure is feminine, dressed in black and red. She has the air of a warrior surrounding her. Her brown hair is a messy mop of curls. The woman looks at Yennefer and her dark eyes take her in curiously.

She is gone in a blink of an eye. The disturbance in the Chaos is gone too. The encounter was so short and ended so fast that Yennefer is not even sure that it has happened even at all. She moves towards the still sleeping Bard. There is no new footprint in the dirt next to him and there is no trace of the woman's presence in the Chaos. Uneasiness weighs her down as she looks around and around.

In the end, she settles down next to her sleeping companion. However, she doesn’t sleep that night.

***

Tilomild’s house is even bigger than the Ardand Manor. The Alderman is telling them his family’s history as he leads them into the building. There are servants moving around them, but they shrink away from Ciri and Geralt when the Witcher growls at them. The Princess stays close to him, seeking comfort from his strong presence. She introduced herself as Fiona, but despite that, there is a strange, calculating look on the Alderman’s face every time he looks at her. Maybe it’s because of the dress that Loredana gave her. It looks expensive, noble like. She has gone through enough in her short life to have an idea of what people would do for money and power.

She just wants Yennefer and Jaskier to catch up with them soon and get away from here.

They both are given rooms after a long and uncomfortable tour of the Manor. Ciri locks herself into hers as soon as she can, almost slamming the door into a servant's face. She feels Geralt’s presence as he takes up a guarding position in front of her door and it’s reassuring.

She curls up on the top of the covers of her bed and she pulls up her knees, hugs her legs. Finally, she is alone and her tears break through her iron control. She doesn’t sob, her tears just rolling silently. The silence is only broken by one or two sniffs. She cries for another two lives lost. Her tears fall for Loredana, for Eirlan. Mostly, they fall for Jaskier, because his pain is the most familiar to her. The pain of losing her Grandmother, Eist, Mousesack, even Sir Lazlo is still there, tearing a hole into her chest with every breath she takes. Now, Jaskier has to go through the same.

“Lion Cub.”

Ciri’s head shot up. The woman, who has been with them ever since they arrived at Felahil. She has been following them around like a silent shadow without Tilomild or his men noticing her. Ciri has been occupied by her worry for Yennefer and Jaskier, then later the potential threat that is Tilomild, so, she forgot almost all about the woman.

“Who are you?” she asks now. She holds herself straighter but doesn’t do anything about the wet tracks on her face.

The woman smiles and slowly sits down onto the edge of the bed. Her black eyes are mesmerizing, Ciri notes. She could get lost in them.

“Call me Shereje,” the woman speaks. Her voice is like the purr of a content cat.

“What are you?” Ciri prods. “Are you a demon?”

“I am the one who leads the souls of the dead to the Empty. My home is the In-Between. I help the crossing souls through the sudden change. I sing them to Sleep.” Shereje explains.

“So, that is all? What awaits us? Sleep?” Ciri asks. Her need to know, her never lessening curiosity moves her body closer to the woman, brightens her eyes.

“Dear Lion Cub, the Empty is the beginning and the end of everything. I am unable to explain it to you.”

It’s disappointing and Ciri pouts. Shereje chuckles but doesn’t provide more information. Ciri’s thoughts start to wander. Loredana and Eirlan resurface again. Their memory tainted by the pain of their tragic end.

“I…” she reconsiders and starts the sentence again. “There were two people who helped me and my friends. They… They died recently. Can you help them?” she looks into the black orbs, her vision blurring again. “Can you please help the Ardand family?” she begs.

Shereje's smile turns sad, the lights in the room dim. She reaches out and touches Ciri’s temple gently.

“They are both safe and asleep in Lilit’s arms,” she whispers. Ciri doesn’t recognize the name, but she knows that the couple, Jaskier’s family is truly safe finally. She can feel it in her bones. She leans her head against the cool fingers at her temple. She isn't crying anymore.

***

When Jaskier wakes, it’s to the smell of trees, horses, fire. Home. He thinks about Renfri.

“Hey! Wake up!” he hears Yennefer’s voice cutting through the silence of the forest around the cave. He sighs, dark, playful eyes slipping away from him.

“I swear to the gods, I leave you here if you don’t move your lazy ass!”

He opens one eye, then another and glares at the Mage, who is moving around with a frown on her face.

“Grumpy Witch!” he mumbles as he stretches. The first rays of sunlight have barely broken through the darkness of the Night and he shivers in the morning chill. It’s ungodly early in his opinion.

“I will show you grumpy if you are not up and ready by the time I put the fire out!” she rounds on him. He cocks his head to the side and runs his eyes up and down on her figure. It seems to annoy her even more. She is almost stomping around like a child, her purple eyes are throwing lightning at everyone and everything.

“I give up!” he declares and crosses his arms in front of his chest. “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing!” she snaps. She approaches Pegasus, probably to deposit her bag on his saddle, but the stallion snaps his head up and huffs a warning. She stills and to Jaskier’s surprise, her shoulders slump. Jaskier watches her while worrying the hem of his shirt with his fingers. A nervous habit and he scoff with disgust when he notices.

Yennefer visibly collects herself. “It’s nothing,” she repeats. Jaskier opens his mouth to argue because a mage in a frenzy is not nothing, but she turns fully towards him and holds a hand up. “It really is. Let’s just catch up with the others and get to safety. I need time to think, that’s all.”

He considers arguing, but in the end, he doesn’t. After all, despite his nonexistent boundaries, who he is to Yennefer? She doesn’t own him explanation and he doesn’t own her one. It’s safe that way, he reminds himself as he walks past her and starts preparing Pegasus for their journey.

In the middle of the packing and preparing, another thought surfaces. How long does he plan to hang out with these people? Personally, he didn’t plan to get involved. This was exactly the reason why he sent Shereje. He just stumbled into Ciri and he had to help her. That wasn’t a question. But Ciri is safe now with Geralt. Only, now he has to make sure that Yennefer reaches the pair. (Not that Yennefer actually needs his help that much, but damn it, he is a Professor of the Seven Liberal Arts. He doesn’t turn his back on a woman, even if that said woman is a hellishly sexy, but still a kinda crazy witch.)

That’s all, he decides, as he pulls Yennefer up into the saddle, behind him again. He takes her back to Geralt and Ciri, then he leaves.

He has trials to finish after all.

***

Pegasus’ canter takes them to Felahil faster than they originally expected. They reach the settlement just after noon.

The stallion slows his space as they spot the darkly dressed woman in the middle of the road.

“Shereje!” Yennefer hisses from behind Jaskier and he can’t help the grin that forms on his face. “Don’t anger her! She is dangerous!” the Mage warns him and Jaskier doesn’t mention that yes, he knows exactly what the woman is capable of.

“My Lady!” he greets her when Pegasus stops in front of the Angel of Death. Yennefer squeezes her arms around him as a warning, but he ignores her.

“Your companions are the guests of Tilomild of Felahil. You shall be known as the parents of the Lion Cub.” Shereje informs them. “The guards will be here shortly to escort you to the Alderman’s house.”

Jaskier’s shoulders slump and he hears Yennefer curses from behind him. He shares the sentiment. Geralt had one job and it was keeping Ciri and himself out of trouble, while they dealt with the creeper. Considering that he is a witcher, it shouldn’t have been that hard! Jaskier narrows his eyes at the woman in front of him. Shereje is unfazed as she looks back at him. He needs to have a long chat with her about her current assignment when things settle a little.

He looks up to see three guards approaching them on horses. Pegasus huffs a warning and shifts under them, body tense.

“Easy boy!” Jaskier soothes him, but he too tenses, when he feels Chaos shifting behind him. However, the guards are close now, he can’t risk checking on the Mage behind him. Shereje moves out of the way of the approaching figures and stands like a statue on their right.

“Welcome to Felahil, Good Sir!” the leader of the three guards greets him, then he bows a little to Yennefer. “My Lady!”

Jaskier shows them one of his brightest smiles. “I thank you, Sirs! However, allow me to be rude in my parental worry. Please, by chance did a witcher and a young girl come to this town?” he asks. “She is my daughter.” His voice is pleading enough, his eyes round and desperate enough to convince the guards. He can see it on their softening features, relaxing postures.

“Indeed! Your daughter has been taken in by our Lord, Tilomild himself. You are invited to his home for the night. Please, follow us!” The leader says, then turns his horse around. The other two guards slip around them. Jaskier swallows down his annoyance. He hates this suffocating feeling of being surrounded. However, he keeps up his sunny persona and keeps voicing his gratitude to the guards.

As soon as they are out of sight, he will kick Geralt’s ass!

***

The eerie silence is broken by the thuds of hooves, the neighs of horses and the murmurings of the soldiers behind her. She ignores it as she makes her way into the village that has been called Irsahone before. Her eyes sweep over the carnage in front of her. It doesn’t faze her anymore. She closes her eyes and concentrates on the swirling Chaos around them. It is so easy to find the print of the other mage. The one she has been following for weeks now. A smile curls on her face.

“So?” she hears Cahir’s demanding tone and she slowly turns back towards him.

“She’s been here. We found Yennefer of Vengerberg!”

To Be Continued….


	9. You are the driftwood and the rift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tilomild is fishy... 
> 
> Jaskier, Yennefer and Ciri are up to no good...
> 
> Geralt is Tired-DadTM...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter yay! Please let me know what you think!

The Academy of Oxenfurt is the home of the Seven Liberal Arts and so much more too. He has been one of those students who have been chosen to learn and accomplish more. He has been taught how to be an important instrument for shaping the kingdoms of the continent. Unlike Valdo Marx, the asshole, he never used this certain knowledge, he has another role after all, but the skills are there. Which is a fucking good thing, because otherwise, they would be facing a very humiliating detection. 

What the fuck was Yennefer thinking doing something like that without a warning of some kind? Seriously! 

The horses have stopped in front of the Alderman’s house, a pretty big building considering how small Felahil truly is. He slipped off Pegasus’ saddle and turned to help his supposed wife. He gapped at the woman who looked nothing like Yennefer of Vengerberg. Her hair is ashen, just like Ciri’s and her eyes have lost their distinguished purple color. Now they are grey. Even Yennefer’s skin is a lot paler than before. 

Somehow his movements remain smooth as he helps her down, although he knows his eyes are wider than what they should be. 

“Are you okay, Dear?” he asks and he can’t help the edge in his voice. 

“Yes, my love,” Yennefer purrs and she has the audacity to flutter her eyelashes at him. He is not amused, not at all, and she knows that. 

A stableboy walks up to them and asks for permission to take Pegasus away. The stallion shoots a mischievous look at the young man and then at his owner and Jaskier sighs. He will hear about his unruly horse in the near future, he just knows it. 

A butler exits the building and greets them kindly. He introduces himself as Iser and ushers them inside. Yennefer links their arms together and snuggles into his side. He plots his genius revenge as they walk after the middle-aged man. 

The Alderman sits at a long table and sips red wine from an elegant glass when they enter the room. Ciri and Geralt are there too, looking as uncomfortable as possible. Yennefer untangles herself from his slack hold and opens her arms invitingly. 

“My child!” she cries and hurries towards Ciri, who accepts the hug, but looks dazed with shock. 

Thankfully, all eyes are turned on the woman and the child, because Geralt is openly gaping at the mage. Unprofessional, Jaskier thinks as he approaches the hugging pair. He gently pats Ciri’s head and meets her light-colored eyes with his own, calm ones. She is reassured by their presence and she sinks against Yennefer. Jaskier still has a part to play. 

“Good Sir!” he says as he turns his attention to the Alderman. For someone to be this rich in such a small community… They have to be careful. “How can I repay you for keeping my daughter safe?” 

“We shall not talk about repayment today, but do share your name!” the man speaks. He is loud and his eyes roam over Eirlan’s clothes hungrily. Jaskier really wants to punch him and he doesn’t even have a valid reason for that yet. 

“My name is Alfred Pankratz from…” 

“Lettenhove!” The alderman cries. The glint in his eyes shifts. “I heard a lot about your family!”

Shit. Shit. Shiiiiiiiiiiit. Nice one, Jaskier! Way to go!

Truth be told, he never expected someone from this isolated village to know his family’s name. 

“Most of the stories are excessive,” he smiles. He feels Geralt’s eyes on the back of his neck. It bothers him on so many levels. He doesn’t want to talk about this in front of Geralt. He doesn’t want to be around Geralt, period. 

“Even the story of Agnes and Alec Pankratz?” Tilomild asks. 

The name of the man and woman who welcomed him to this world then died to save his life soon after raises the hair on the back of his neck. 

“Just a tragic story of cruel bandits. That’s all.” he forces out. “Although I have to admit, I don’t know the details. I was born years after that event.” 

“Shame!” Tilomild says and takes a huge gulp of his wine. “I would love the story behind the forbiddance of the name Julian in Lettenhove. There must be a really interesting tale!

“I can’t answer you, I’m afraid.” he puts on an apologetic face.

“Nah!” Tilomild waves dismissively. “No reason to get so sour mooded! Let’s eat! That will bring joy to us all! Iser!” 

The butler orchestrates the dinner expertly, Jaskeir has to admit that. He is seated almost next to Tilomild. Ciri is between him and Yennefer, which is finally reassuring, but the fact that Geralt is right in front of him, on the other side of the table, is absolutely not. He spends the whole dinner avoiding the cat-like eyes and dodging Tilomild’s questions. Luckily, the alderman loves speaking about himself, and he doesn’t need much prompting to start a long series of stories of his supposed travels and heroics. They are bullshit and Jaskier knows it. Tilomild is a horrible storyteller and he wants to punch him. Renfri would have, he knows. 

Then finally, the dinner is over and he can request a break pointing out the harsh, almost completely forged adventure that he presents to the alderman. He and Yennefer receive a room and Jaskier refuses to think about what they will do with one bed. He is not surprised when he wants to close the door behind himself, but it’s stopped by Geralt. Yennefer and Ciri are already in the room. It’s easy to explain, supposedly they are her parents and all, but he has no explanation to give the Alderman why Geralt is currently forcing his way into the room despite Jaskier glares. 

He just steps out of the way and wishes for a lightning strike to end him right there. He is exhausted! 

He doesn’t look at anyone, just throws himself down onto the bed and covers his eyes with his arm. He hears Yennefer’s murmur. Then Chaos engulfs the room. 

“We can speak freely now,” she explains. 

Damn…

“What happened?” Geralt demands. Silence follows his question. He feels Yennefer’s and Geralt’s eyes on him, and he knows why the Mage is offering him the right for the explanation, but he can’t appreciate it. He wants to hide, to curl up under something, and sleep for a long time. Only, there is nothing or no one left to hide behind. Renfri is gone, just like Dana and Eirlan. Shereje is who knows where again, and Geralt… he can go to hell.

“The Creeper is dead,” he says curtly in the end. He doesn't have the energy to babble about blood, death, and heroics. 

The bed dips next to him and his nostrils are assaulted by a new smell. Something fresh and flowery.

“Are you hurt?” he can hear Ciri’s voice coming from above him. He reaches out blindly and somehow his fingers find the top of her head. He ruffles her ashen hair. 

“No, dear.” 

“There is a fresh scar on your neck!” she protests. 

“Yesterday Yennefer had a hole in her shoulder!” it’s unfair, he knows, but with a gasp, Ciri’s attention is redirected. He can hear Yennefer’s protests, then reassurances, all laced with bewilderment. A child’s concern is new, even for her. Her rampage comes to his mind, their meeting, the incident with the Djinn. She seems a lot stable now. Maybe Ciri is a good influence on her too. He hopes so. 

Geralt really should stop staring at him. His gaze burns holes into his skull, at least it feels like it. It makes him uncomfortable, and when he is uncomfortable, he does stupid things. He has to do something about it. 

He sits up abruptly. 

“Tilomild is fishy!” he says the first thing that comes to his mind. 

“What a surprise! The Bard has insight!” Yennefer smirks. Jaskier shoots her a dirty look, but she is unfazed. “Let’s check it out!” 

“Wait! No!” Geralt protests. He straightens his posture and crosses his arms in front of his broad chest. Everything about him is disapproving and it’s not intimidating, but close enough. A very bad tactic against the three of them. Jaskier keeps his attention on Yennefer. Her face is guarded, but there is a mischievous glint in her purple eyes that reminds him of Renfri so much. He pulls a small silver spoon out of his pocket and presents it to the room. Geralt makes an exasperated sound, but he is ignored again. Jaskier points at the little engravement on the spoon. 

“A sparrow with flaming wings. This is the symbol of the well respected Ygord family from Kovir. The head of the family, Vitten used to be the Head Advisor of King Tavini. I had the chance to perform during his eldest daughter’s wedding! It was magnificent! However, Vitten disappeared three years ago on a trip to the south. No one knows where he went or what happened to him and his guards.”

“I’ve heard about that!” Ciri gasps. “I overheard Grandmother and Eist discussing his disappearance. They thought someone assassinated him!”

“Overheard…” Jaskier drawls. His tone is teasing and the young Princess blushes. 

“It was purely accidental!” she protests. 

Yennefer stands up and starts pacing, expertly avoiding the fuming Witcher in the middle of the room. 

“If he was traveling south from the Capital, then he had to travel through this glen. Do we have information on how far he got?” 

“He and his entourage passed Hearthollow and Ucocna, but they’ve never reached Irsahone, as far as I know.” It was a mess. The search party messed up Loredana’s home and scared the people of Irsahone. However, the search was fruitless. No one knew anything about the nobleman and his people. They disappeared in thin air after leaving Ucocna. The mountains and the thick forest seemingly swallowed them up. However, now there is this spoon, a touchable proof that someone from the Ygord family has stepped into this place. The not so deeply buried spy in Jaskier steers at the thought. 

However, before he can come up with the plan which will be surely shot down by Geralt, a distant knock cuts through the conversation.

“Mister Witcher, Lord Tilomild would like to speak with you!” They can hear Iser’s voice. Jaskier almost gives away his newfound heightened senses, but luckily Geralt for once in his life speaks first.

“He is knocking on my door.” 

“Well, you shouldn’t keep him waiting!” Yennefer smirks and conjures up a portal. Geralt glares at it, then moves his gaze back onto the two other adults in the room. 

“You will get into trouble!” he hisses. 

“He can’t find you in here!” Yennefer warns him and points meaningfully at the portal.

“Ciri stays here!” he tries one more time, then Yennefer’s magic pushes him through the magical gateway. 

Jaskier listens closely to the conversation between the Butler and the Witcher. Geralt sounds nauseous, nothing new here. He always hated traveling through portals. Then the two of them depart, their footsteps becoming fainter and fainter. 

“What now?” Ciri turns to them, her eyes wide with excitement. She has you wouldn’t dare to leave me behind written all over her young face. Jaskier knows with certainty that he wouldn’t. This girl can and will get into deeper trouble if she is left to her own devices. 

“Wait!” Yennefer hisses. “Something is wrong!”

Jaskier listens and hears the clanking of armor, the sure steps of the guards. 

“Shit!” he hisses. 

Ciri stands confused in the middle of the room as his eyes slip over her. Yennefer, the ever-resourceful mage, steps to the window and pries it open. She leans out and checks the ground. 

“Come on!” she orders and climbs out. 

There is a forceful knock on the door as Jaskier ushers Ciri to the window. 

“Sir Pankratz!” someone calls out. 

Jaskier helps Ciri through the window, where she catches Yennefer’s reached out hand and she is helped over to the balcony on their right. Jaskier moves to follow as the knocking on the door becomes insistent. However, he stops in the middle of climbing out. His eyes catch sight of movement on the left. He narrows his eyes, but between the hills and the woods, not even his newly heightened sight can differentiate between shadow and shadow. 

“Jaskier!” Yennefer hisses. That and the sound of the key turning in the lock spurs him into action. He moves and with less gracefulness than Yennefer, he climbs over to the now crowded balcony. Ciri reaches for the handle, but Yennefer stills her hand. She nods towards the balcony next to this one and starts towards it. It’s a bit further away from them, and Ciri’s smaller form needs extra help from them, but they manage. There Yennefer sweeps her hand in front of the lock and it opens. They slip inside and find themselves in what looks like a small study. 

“You two are frightfully good at breaking in!” Ciri comments.

Jaskier flashes her a mischievous grin which she returns. 

Yennefer slips behind the huge desk that sits not far from the balcony. Good choice, Jaskier notes. He approaches the bookshelves and runs his eyes over the titles. During dinner, Tilomild’s favorite topics were himself, the mansion, himself, his ancestors, and himself. He takes a book called The Aldermans of Felahil and flips through the pages. There is a creased piece of paper tucked into almost the middle of the book. He smiles to himself. So, fucking predictable. It’s a list, he notes, names, places, and... prices? He frowns. An uncomfortable feeling takes over him as he continues reading. 

_ Vitten - Advisor of King Tavini - 3500 _

_ Henryvon - Master Architect from Redania - 2500 _

_ Othed - Cidarian Trader - 1000 _

_ Avesh - Mage from Lyria - 3000 _

And the list goes on and on. Some of the names are crossed out, some are underlined. Jaskier knows most of these people. He has written several tragic ballads to honor a few of them. He may have to rethink them. 

_ Julian Abraham Pankratz - Promised Child of Lettenhove - ???  _

They got the second name wrong, thanks to Lilit, but they know of him. He grips the paper with white fingers. His pulse thunders in his ears. 

“Your parents were murdered on the day you were born,” Shereje has told him, “They paid the price of your life with their own.” 

“Jaskier, look!” Ciri points at a little statue on one of the shelves. “What kind of instrument is that?” 

He can’t tear his eyes away from the list. 

_ Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon - Princess of Cintra - ???  _

The statue explodes. 

Ciri shrieks.

***

Geralt blames Yennefer and Jaskier for this. 

Normally, nothing like this happens to him. He is a Witcher for fuck’s sake, he would be dead otherwise. 

It is Yennefer’s and Jaskier’s fault because they occupied his mind almost one hundred percent as he followed the Butler down the corridors. It was a historical moment after all. Yennefer and Jaskier weren’t just agreeing on something, but also planning an information-gathering mission together! Not just historical, but horrifying too. End of the fucking world type of shit! It’s no surprise that he couldn’t think about anything else or pay attention to anything else. 

Now, he is staring stupidly at the metal bards that separates him from Iser. They fell from the ceiling as a mocking replica of his predicament in Cintra. The same type of bars appeared behind him too. He is trapped. Again. The same fucking way. 

Okay, maybe he does get into these kinds of troubles worryingly often. 

He still blames Yennefer and Jaskier.

“Please, make yourself comfortable, Sir!” The smile that forms on the Butler’s face is sharp, like the claws of a cat. “Lord Tilomild will be with you shortly.” 

Now that he pays attention to the little things, he sees the intelligence behind the servant's eyes. He will need to take care of this man right after he gets out of this stupid cage. 

Geralt watches as Iser leaves, ascending on the staircase. He is left alone with one guard who already looks bored. 

“You should let me out of here,” he says. After all, everyone deserves one chance. 

“I don’t think so!” the guard spats. 

“Think again!” 

Geralt fingers draw the lines of Axii in the air. 

***

Tilomild sits in front of the hearth and gulps down the red wine that should be tasted and valued when Iser enters. He schools his features as he approaches the Alderman. He can’t even put it into words how much he hates this man. He would kill him on the spot, but sadly he needs him too. 

Stupid, arrogant nobleman, he thinks as he bows. 

“The Witcher is secured,” he reports. 

Tilomild blinks up at him, his mouth is slightly agape. The alcohol is already numbing his mind, he will be out of commission soon. All the better, Iser can take care of things better when there is no distraction. The Alderman paws at his vest and pulls out a piece of paper, almost tearing it to shreds with his clumsy handling. 

“Send this letter to the Pankratz family! Sooner the better! I smell lots of coins coming in!” he slurs and takes another noisy gulp of his ale. 

Iser takes the letter and reads it. Tilomild is already too far gone to care. The Butler sighs. The letter is nothing, but a temper tantrum, a childish threat. Too revealing. He will have to rewrite it. Nothing surprising here. 

“Rhaffegan advised putting Yennefer of Vengerberg onto our list, My Lord.” 

Tilomild waves with his hand dismissively and Iser bows as he retreats. He will have a busy night after all. He has to secure the Pankratz family and gather some information before he rewrites the letter. There was something off with Alfred. His snake-like tactics to avoid Tilomild questions were almost professional. The woman has caught his attention too. There was something about her he couldn’t place. What was her name? Juliette, yes. Maybe he should start the questioning with her. After all, every mother breaks when their young ones are threatened. 

Dethmar comes around the corner in a hurry. He is panting, his eyes are wide. 

“What happened?” Iser demands calmly. Of course, something went wrong. Usually, something does. Nothing surprising here either. 

“The Pankratz family disappeared!” The servant reports. 

Iser allows himself a sigh, then he looks out of the window. The sky is always a trustworthy indicator of the current time. They are nearing midnight. His lovely potion’s effect will set in soon. 

“Well?” he looks back at Dethmar. “Find them!”

“Yes, Sir!” 

“Lock up the father and bring the woman and the child to the Room!” 

Dethmar gulps loudly and looks away. His skin is pale and tiny droplets of sweat appear on his forehead. He’s always been neurasthenic. Maybe he should get rid of him. 

“Yes, Sir!” 

To Be Continued...


End file.
